What we Deserve
by alyalyoxenfree
Summary: Sure, Dominique Weasley had made plenty of mistakes in her short life. But none so far had been as tremendously stupid as the one she'd just made - note to self: when finding dodgy pieces of jewellery abandoned in bathroom sinks don't mess around with them. Stuck two decades in the past and surrounded by the lost, Dominique is led to question, do we get what we deserve? EDITING!
1. Nineteen Years Later

Disclaimer: If I owned 'Harry Potter' I'd be posting this from a yacht. All rights to J.K. Rowling.

 **PART 1**

 **Nineteen Years Later**

Sunlight warmed the side of the scarlet steam engine as it wove through the English countryside and Dominique Weasley flipped absentmindedly through the pages of Quidditch Today as she watched it roll by. On the opposite seat Lysander Scamander reached for the pile of Cauldron Cakes amassed between them, startling as the compartment door flew open. James Potter burst in with a gusto.

"Weasley, can you tell your sister to keep the public snogging to a minimum?" He plopped himself down dramatically next to Lysander. "My eyes can't un-see what has just been seen…"

"Trust me, Potter, I'm not a fan either," Dominique promised wryly.

James leant over and snatched the Cauldron Cake Lysander was about to grab, ignoring his friend's protests. A contemplative shade overtook his face as he went on, voice muffled by the chunk of cake he was talking through. "I suppose though if they get hitched Teddy will legally become our cousin though, hey – your brother, even better!"

"Isn't he practically part of your family already?" Lysander asked.

"Well yeah, but it'll be official," James answered. He had a glint in his eyes that Dominique had come to equate with trouble and she had an inkling that very soon poor Teddy Lupin would be bombarded with James' demands that he immediately marry Dominique's sister. "It'll be great as long as they stop snogging all the time."

Sharing a silent look with Lysander, a smile spread across their faces. It was such a _James_ statement – marry but don't show any affection, it'll be great. Sometimes Dominique couldn't believe the rubbish that came pouring out of her cousin and, she'd only begrudgingly admit, best friend's mouth. "Speaking of brothers, have you let poor Al of the hook?" she asked. "What are you going to do if he actually does end up in Slytherin?"

James began to say something about how brotherly teasing was a good character building experience but was interrupted when the compartment door slid open and the Head Girl glided in, glistening badge pinned to her Ravenclaw robes. Victoire was essentially Fleur's younger, less French doppelgänger. She'd inherited their mother's sheet of pale hair, clear blue eyes and willowy figure. Louis too had a veela-ish elegance to his high cheekbones and platinum blonde locks. Dominique, on the other hand, was decidedly more Weasley-ish.

"Well if it isn't the bride-to-be herself," James said, glancing at her with a mix of amusement and mild disgust. "No offence, Vic, but I hope to never see that sort of face-eating again for as long as I live."

"No offence, James, but I'll be concerned with your opinions about my kissing when you've crossed that bridge yourself," Victoire quipped but a troubled expression graced her delicate features. James flushed scarlet and muttered something about not broadcasting his romantic escapades to the world. Dominique reminded him that he couldn't broadcast what didn't exist. "Either way, you'll want to see this," Victoire interrupted, gently tossing the latest edition of the Daily Prophet onto Dominique's lap. Imposing block letters darted out from the front page.

 **MINISTER OF MAGIC HERMIONE GRANGER OPPOSES TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT REVIVAL; INTERNATIONAL FEDERATION OF WIZARDS' PLANS MOVE FORWARD**

"You're joking!" Dominique said in disbelief. "I thought for sure after Krum's testimony they'd cancel it!"

"I guess this means they'll call up dad to testify next," James said, grabbing the newspaper.

The looming shadow of the Triwizard Tournament had been casting itself over the various Weasley and Potter households for the last several months. Led by the International Federation of Wizards in a bid to mend relations coming out of the last Wizarding War, the British Ministry of Magic had been seeking to revive the infamous tournament. Expectedly, almost everyone who'd been involved the first time round had been fighting the move, none more so than the three surviving contestants.

Dominique personally thought the whole thing was insane - she might've been a Gryffindor but she wasn't a moron.

"You know the principles of the whole thing aren't that bad, international co-operation and bonds, celebration of the education system..." Lysander murmured, scanning the article over James' shoulder.

At the sound of Dominique's disbelieving snort he quirked a brow but James beat him to a response. "Come off it, Dom, it's not that bad of an idea. Could be fun even," he said wistfully. James' head, Dominique suspected, was swimming with visions of himself clasping the Triwizard Cup as he stood on a podium in the middle of his adoring fans.

 _So maybe Gryffindor did have a few morons..._

"You," she said, grabbing another Cauldron Cake and tossing the wrapper atop the heaped pile, "are barking." Eyeing the growing mound and looking incredibly like their mother, Victoire warned her sister to slow down before she gave herself a stomach ache, to which James muttered something sounding suspiciously close to 'would serve her right.'

After a moment he tossed the newspaper aside and leant back against the cushioned seat, propping his legs up lazily. "I don't reckon it's a half bad idea - bring it back, put a positive spin on it, that sort of thing."

"Somebody died last time. Not exactly the sort of thing you can put a 'positive spin' on," Dominique reminded him.

"People died lots of ways back then, Dom," Victoire murmured.

A characteristic silence fell upon the compartment - an automatic reaction that came with being the children of war heroes. The war itself was a sensitive topic in their family and despite the emphasis the media put on them as the saviours of the Wizarding World none of their parents spoke much about the days of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army. In all honesty, Dominique and her cousins were as much in the dark as the annoyingly persistent Rita Skeeter-esque reporters when it came to the intricacies of Voldemort's rise and fall - a fact which was as frustrating as it was fortunate. Their parents, Uncle Harry in particular, kept the whole thing under wraps, something most recognised as an attempt to ward off any aspiring Dark Lords.

The brooding moment was broken though when Victoire made to leave for patrols, glancing towards the darkening sky as she did and reminding them to change into their uniforms. As they neared Hogwarts talk, in typical fashion, turned to Quidditch and before long James had whipped out his 'playbook' - a concrete symbol of his obsession with one day captaining the Gryffindor team.

Lysander was comparing the diving tactics of Timmy 'The Tank' Petrov and Samuel 'Freefall' Franklin - with Dominique offhandedly mentioning that back when her parents thought she'd be doubling down on X-chromosomes they'd planned on naming her Sam - when James let out a triumphant cry. He'd been trawling through the battered notebook trying to find a complicated sounding manoeuvre for the last half hour. About halfway through his animated description Dominique's stomach began to squirm uncomfortably. She could feel the vibrations of the train as she leant her head against the compartment window.

"…and then you just aim the bludger directly at the quaffle so it knocks it off course and your chasers have a free shot!" James finished, sounding pleased.

Dominique, meanwhile, was too busy trying to pacify the rolling of her stomach to pay too much attention. "Yeah, yeah a bludger," she managed as her cousin continued to watch her expectantly. "What do we need one of those for if we can just use your thick head?"

"I take offense to that," he replied dryly.

"You're supposed to," she said, jumping up as the train lurched over a particularly rickety piece of track. "I think I'm going to be sick." Grabbing the overhead luggage rail for support, Dominique saw both boys automatically recoil from the corner of her dizzied vision, with Lysander unconsciously covering the remainder of their Cauldron Cakes with a hand.

"Could you er-?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm going," she struggled towards the door, scowling Lysander's way. "If you need me I'll be in the lavatory, keeling over the toilet to die. I ask you both to remember me as I was – young, carefree, generous, an incredible chaser-"

"Modest," James finished, grabbing his backpack and making to follow her. He shrugged at her questioning expression. "What? I need to go that way anyway."

Together stumbling out onto the narrow corridor, the pair heard Lysander's voice fade with the closing click of the compartment door behind them. "I guess I'll just sit here alone then…"

To distract herself from her rebelling stomach Dominique listened to James' babbling and allowed her gaze to trail over the compartments they weaved pass, roving over the literal dozens of cousins and siblings she had dotted around the train. She was so caught up in the act that she didn't realise that she was about to barrel into one midway down the corridor until Louis rammed into her with a characteristic thud. Head perpetually stuck in a book, her younger brother was remarkably prone to bumping into things wherever he went - chairs, school trunks, small children. Today's distractor was a dusty looking book titled 'Voiceless – an Unspeakable Speaks Out.'

Dominique clasped her abdomen as Louis' eyes darted up to discover she source of the minor collision. "Sorry, Dom!" he apologised, steadying her. "Are you alright, you look like you're about to be sick."

Shooting him a weak thumbs up, Dominique thought that her unaffected brother must have shins of steel. James, luckily, took the initiative to answer in her stead. "Don't worry, Lou, it's going to be very entertaining, quite the spectacle. I was promised 'keeling over and dying'," he said, spreading his hands out in front of himself as though envisioning the scene.

Dominique's eyes narrowed. "Watch it, Potter, or I might forgo the bathroom aim for _you_."

Her cousin shrugged, unconcerned, but his face screwed up comically as a harsh chirping suddenly strained their ears. "It sounds like somebody's owl is being strangled." Dominique was quietly thankful that the strange noise was not, in fact, an illness invoked delusion. Making to put distance between themselves and the unfortunate screeching, she watched over her shoulder as Louis reopened the book, moved forward and bumped into a heavy trunk, still completely oblivious as his internal GPS kicked in and he started off again. It was like watching a one-man bumper car rally. Dominique shook her head with a sigh before continuing on, worrying that one day he was going to wander straight off a cliff.

"You know you really do look crappy, Dom," James pointed out a few minutes later. Outsight, night had enveloped the train but the moon hadn't yet reached the sky and Dominique caught a glimpse of her reflection's ashen face on the train window. She started to respond when James stopped suddenly, causing her to walk straight into his back. As she told him off for disturbing her already volatile stomach he loudly shushed her, waving a frantic hand. "Did you hear my name?" He visibly strained his ears. "I heard my name!"

Craning her neck to see around him, James' motives in tagging became glaringly obvious; none of them involved helping his ill cousin. Tyler Tran, his long term crush, was sitting in an open compartment nearby, chatting easily and obliviously with a group of friends. Dominique peered between her and James' determined expression as he zeroed in on his target and shook her head. "Potter, you are pathetic."

"Yeah, you go ahead, I'm going to stick around for a bit," he replied absently, already reaching into his backpack. There was no doubt that he was rummaging around for his father's invisibility cloak to, yet again, stick his nose where it didn't belong. Personally, Dominique would have questioned the wisdom of her uncle Harry letting his adolescent son mosey around with free rein of the thing if she didn't raise the same amount of havoc with it.

Leaving James to his pining, Dominique clutched her way to the girl's bathroom at the back of the train in solitude, stopping momentarily to hiss after an invisible figure that knocked her against the wall, which was in all probability another cousin who'd just stolen to cloak. Her churning stomach had her all but collapsing through the lavatory door and lurching for the thankfully empty toilet. Once she'd well and truly heaved herself to exhaustion, she rested her head on her forearm and listened to the deceptively calming sound of the train rolling down the track below.

"Bloody Cauldron Cakes..."

Finally dragging herself up, Dominique staggered towards the sink, halting when she noticed something glistening in the basin. With careful movements she picked it up and realised that it was a delicate gold necklace that someone, Merlin knew why, had dumped in the bathroom sink of all places. Intending to hand it over to McGonagall or Longbottom when the train pulled in, she stuffed it into her pocket and warily scanned her reflection as she washed her hands and rinsed her mouth.

Food poisoning, or whatever it was she had, was apparently not great for the complexion. Sections of blonde hair hung limply from her braid and the skin beneath her freckled face was a sickly grey colour. Splashing a cupped handful of cold water across it, Dominique closed her eyes and tried to piece together where exactly her digestive system had gone wrong. Cauldron Cake's weren't known to have this affect, and Lysander and James had been fine. Her lids snapped open furiously as the most likely perpetrator sprang to mind – James. This was exactly the kind of idiotic prank he'd think was hilarious.

Dominique decided that if the urge to vomit suddenly overcame her later in the trip, she would be running to her dearest cousin instead of a bathroom. Hopefully he'd be halfway into an attempted wooing of Tyler Tran.

 _Or_ there were other ways to get back at him...

An impish smile began to play at Dominique's lips as she reached into her pocket and drew out the necklace, considering it gleefully. _Oh the opportunities_. Her smile evolved into a full fletched maniacal grin as various wicked plans sprang to mind, each involving the dainty piece of jewellery. Twisting the gold hourglass pendant around distractedly in her fingers Dominique had just settled on the classic 'tell him its Tyler Tran's but put a nausea inducing curse on it first' scheme when the train lurched violently. She stumbled against the sink, her fingers yanking the pendant back as far as it would go before slipping off.

An abrupt pulse rippled through her, an electric shockwave that left Dominique momentarily numb. She watched in awe as the necklace's hourglass pendant began to whirl wildly until it was a blur in her hand and gasped loudly at the sharp pull to her navel as the bathroom began to spin, spiralling along with the hourglass. Her heart thundered in her chest. Something felt very, very wrong. Horrified, she tried to toss the necklace from her grip but it held like cement in her grasp, its heat growing and spreading across her body.

 _What in Merlin's name have I done?_

The world spun until it was a blur. And then everything went black.

* * *

Her thumping head, aching as though it'd just been bashed in by a bludger, brought Dominique groggily to her senses. Her throat was raw as she blinked against the dim bathroom light suspended above her; it's complete stillness coupled with the absence of the steady roll of the engine underneath helped her register somewhere in the back of her mind that the train had stopped. More immediately though, she was concerned with how she'd ended up on the bathroom floor of the Hogwarts Express.

Groaning and rolling over, Dominique rested her cheek against the surprisingly chilled tile floor. Hadn't it been a humid day earlier? After a pause, she screwed up her face and retraced the afternoon in her memory, her eyes flying open as the comprehension hit her. Twisting around to scowl mutinously at the gold necklace glinting beside her, she snatched it off the tiled floor and examined it against the light, muttering darkly all the while about the currently anonymous _complete nutter_ that had left a cursed necklace lying about.

 _The sooner this thing is in McGonagall's hands the better_ , she grumbled. Taking a steadying breath, Dominique heaved herself off the ground and mentally vowed not to throw up again as she stumbled back out onto train corridor. The sight that met her immediately made her want to retreat back into the bathroom, leaving her with the conclusion that the necklace might've caused some serious brain damage.

"Er…Uncle Percy?"

Percy Weasley swivelled round to face her, a startled look on his haughty features. "What are you doing here, the school went up almost half an hour ago!"

Dominique gawked at him. "What are _you_ doing here?" she countered. _And why in Merlin's name are you wearing a uniform…_

"I happen to be Head Boy!" he answered, clearly affronted, and Dominique had to admit, he certainly _sounded_ like Uncle Percy; that unconscious arrogance was unmistakable. But it just didn't add up...Uncle Percy was far too sensible to have completely lost his marbles like this and he certainly wasn't fun enough for it to be an elaborate prank.

 _This is a hallucination_ , she reassured herself. It had to be. Odds were that she was having a seizure somewhere, probably back twitching on bathroom floor. But she couldn't quite explain why she was hallucinating about Uncle Percy of all people, he was probably the most boring person she knew. Maybe she'd just lost it. _Well_ , Dominique decided, _might as well go along with it, at least until the Healers from St Mungo's come in with the restraint jacket._

"Head Boy, huh? Vic failed to mention that," she teased, leaning against the wall. Her stomach rumbled another warning and she took a settling breath. "I get that it was always the dream but you don't exactly fit the criteria these days."

Percy puffed his chest out proudly to emphasise the polished 'Head' badge pinned to it, an exact replica of Victoire's. "I was chosen by Professor Dumbledore himself!"

Now, it wasn't the disturbing precision of Dominique's imagination that was throwing her off, but the fact that according to her bizzaro uncle, Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard to ever live, was running about her deluded psyche handing out Prefect badges. She smiled in what she hoped was a placating manner and took a step backwards. "Dumbledore...right."

Unfortunately this movement had the opposite effect. As though someone had flicked a switch, Percy's body shifted and his face contorted in suspicion. "Who are you?" Dominique blanched and all of a sudden his wand was trained on her chest. "You're not a student here. So who are you?"

"Are you mad?" she cried, taking a more obvious step away. Her hands shaking slightly as she grabbed a nearby wall, Dominique answered herself that, yes, he had clearly lost his mind in her brief absence.

In response, his wand wavered in hesitation but he quickly steadied himself. His eyes, brimming with mistrust and holding no recognition, bore into hers. "I'll have to ask you to give me your wand," Percy demanded.

Dominique shook her head. "That's not going to happen." The light pressure of it against her thigh was one of the few comforts she had left in the current whirlwind of insanity. He'd have to pry it away from her cold, stunned hands.

The Head Boy, looking conflicted, started forward and Dominique froze, unsure exactly how to react in this situation. Her mind reeled - _fight or flight, fight or flight?_ In a moment of pure grace her stomach answered for her. _Throw up._ Percy's disposition changed in an instant and he darted towards her hunched form in a fluster. "Merlin, you're ill!"

 _You think?_ Dominique thought weakly. She shuffled away from him in a futile attempt at escape but he didn't seem to notice, instead guiding her down the corridor, carefully avoiding the path of her retching as they approached a tall girl with very curly brown hair who gasped as they neared. "Oh my, what's wrong with her, poor thing?"

Percy's tone oozed with confidence and Dominique wondered if he was getting a perverse joy from his newly authoritative position. "I'm not sure, Penelope. I think she's delirious…she may have been attacked." He said the last part in an undertone and Penelope quietly gasped again. Dominique, however, couldn't help but recognise the irony in that statement – he was the _last_ person to be going about making judgements on people's mental stability.

Percy murmured something about cleaning up a mess near the back of the train before finally leading her out into the cool night air. Even in the darkness Dominique could make out the glittering lights of Hogwarts Castle shimmering comfortingly in the distance. She decided that she was going to skip the Welcoming Feast altogether and sleep for a week, only just realising how exhausted she felt. She sagged unwillingly against Percy, feeling a bit like a ragdoll.

"Steady there, we'll have you up to the Hospital Wing in no time."

"I don't need the Hospital Wing, I want to go to sleep," Dominique whined. _And I want to put considerable distance between us, maybe get a restraining order_ , she mentally added.

Percy tutted disapprovingly. "You're clearly very ill and it's my duty as Head Boy to make sure you're seen to before you get worse."

Dominique groaned in response. "You know you're not exactly inspiring the comfort you think are."

Percy half dragged her towards the few remaining carriages docked by Hogsmeade Station, presumably left moored for the Prefects. The sound of gentle snorts huffed in the air and Dominique noticed tiredly that her delusions were getting more vivid. He paused a few feet from the closest carriage. "Do you think you've got it all out of your system?" he questioned and Dominique realised that he didn't want her throwing up inside. She nearly scoffed - hallucinatory or not he was definitely her uncle.

"Yeah, just give me a minute to breath," she muttered, leaning against the glossy carriage door. By this point the shock of his apparent mental breakdown had worn off and Dominique was just concerned with surrounding herself with other, preferably mentally stable, people who could serve as reliable witnesses should he pull his wand on her again.

Unaware of her schemes, he glanced towards the shadow of the castle looming over them magnificently. "You may feel nauseous again when we go through the gates, Dementors have that effect," he warned.

Dominique barely stirred, her exhausted eyes seeming to roll of their own accord under heavy lids. _Because of course we couldn't just leave it at crazy relatives._ "Dementors - at Hogwarts?"

"Nobody likes it but it's necessary for our safety, no one knows what Black is capable of after all. Escaping Azkaban, it's unheard of…"

A disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. "Black…as in _Sirius?_ " She raised a challenging eyebrow at his incredulous expression.

"Of course, don't you read the Prophet?"

"I think you're a little behind the times, anyway wasn't he cleared-"

" _Behind the times?_ " Percy repeated disbelievingly. "It was only a few weeks ago! I really should be taking you up to the hospital wing, you're worse than I thought!"

A few…?

Wait.

 _What?_

Dominique suddenly felt very concious, the air suffocatingly still as she stared at her uncle properly for the first time since waking. His red hair held none of its usual grey flecks and the only wrinkles on his face were the premature frown lines he'd been blessed with since childhood. _Younger_ , she realised dumbfounded. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than herself.

And he thought Sirius Black was guilty. And there were Dementors at Hogwarts. Which hadn't happened since…

Dominique's mouth felt cotton dry. "What's the date?"

"September 1st, 1993. Why?"

Her eyes widened as she stared at him for a moment that felt like an eternity. The realisation hit her with the force of a freight train and her hand automatically slid into her pocket, grazing the delicate golden necklace. Percy frowned, looking perplexed as he finally opened the carriage door. "Can you recall your name now?"

Dominique was only vaguely aware of an unintelligible mumble escaping her mouth before she fainted once more. _I'm going to kill James._


	2. Interdimensional Woman Of Mystery

**Interdimensional Woman of Mystery**

Dominique groaned and stretched her stiff body carefully, feeling taut sheets rustle around her. She was in a bed, she realised, although the mattress was far stiffer than her own back at Shell Cottage or the one in the Gryffindor dormitory. So then where was she? She flew upright with a sharp intake of breath as the memory hit her and let her eyes dart around her candlelit surroundings. Large arch windows, rows of white beds, cabinets filled with strange looking potions and a vaguely antiseptic smell. She was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

Dominique pressed her hand to her forehead and let it drop. _I've got to stop waking up in random places_.

Suddenly the curtain beside her bed was torn back and she yelped, drawing the sheets up to her chest. A stern, slightly pudgy looking woman was examining her, a bottle of some unidentified liquid in her grasp. "Finally, you're awake, it's about time. Open," she shoved a spoonful of it down Dominique's throat and she was forced to swallow the tart potion. "What's your name, girl?"

She remained frozen – she had the distinct impression that introducing herself as Dominique Weasley wouldn't go down to well. "Er…"

"An interesting name," the woman, obviously the Matron, said sarcastically as she bustled about the bed. "But I'll be needing a proper one if I'll be fetching the Headmaster at this hour."

Dominique strained her mind, frustrated that it seemed to bail out on her precisely when she needed it most. After an awkward few seconds something at last jumped to the front of her brain and she blurted it out on impulse. "Sam! My name is Sam!"

The Matron appraised her for a long moment. "It will do. I'll return with Professor Dumbledore shortly - you don't move," she added sternly.

Dominique watched her hurry out of the otherwise empty infirmary, illuminated by candles, and wondered what exactly the time was. And the date…bloody hell, the date. She collapsed back against the mattress and stared at the ceiling. _You've done it now, Dom, you absolute dolt. Mum's going to kill me._ In fact, Dominique was so preoccupied with thoughts of her mother's violent reprisal that it took her a good several minutes to register arguably the most crucial element of the Matron's parting words. __'I'll return with Professor Dumbledore in a moment.'_ _Dominique clenched her eyes shut. _Dumbledore – as in? There was no way…_

As if on cue a pair of footsteps re-entered the Hospital Wing, swiftly approaching her bed. She kept her eyes closed until he spoke, willing him to be a figment of her imagination or disappear as the Matron had done. "Good morning, Miss James," he greeted gently.

Dominique slowly cranked open a lid and saw him waiting at the foot of her bed. _There goes the figment theory_. Albus Dumbledore stood illuminated in the moonlight, his white hair and beard practically glowing and his blue eyes twinkling warmly. Dominique took a moment to breath, hoping to avoid a complete psychological breakdown. "Miss James?" she finally rasped after regaining the capacity of speech.

Dumbledore appeared politely confused. "I take it that is not your name then?" he probed, conjuring a chair beside her. Dominique shook her head as he lowered himself into it, wondering where he'd gotten 'James' from.

"How curious. You see when Mr Weasley sent for the staff after you'd fallen unconscious he was quite sure you'd introduced yourself as a James." He paused and his expression turned rather indulgent as he went on. "I'm afraid it's spread around the school by now, along with the story of you being attacked by Dementors." He gave her a knowing look and Dominique audibly gulped, dread flooding through her. "You'll have to forgive them, although given the circumstances it's possible that such a story could prove rather beneficial."

So he knew she hadn't been attacked. That didn't bode well. But he still didn't know her name, her thoughts flittering back to the strange 'Miss James' that she'd apparently been saddled with, pondering where they'd gotten it in the first place, until… _Oh bloody hell._ How many times had Uncle Percy asked for her name - the only time she responded being when she was cursing James Potter's. She'd unintentionally christened herself after her idiot cousin. It was quickly shaping up to be the worst night of Dominique's life - or morning, really, if the Hogwarts Headmaster was to be believed.

"Of course, you do understand the circumstances?" Dumbledore pressed softly, drawing her back to the present. He watched her carefully from behind his half-moon glasses and Dominique had the impression that his somewhat pitiful expression wasn't a good sign.

"Honestly, sir, I've just sort of assumed to whole world's gone mad."

Dumbledore sighed, and Dominique could then properly appreciate how old he was for the first time, magnificent and magical sure but still bloody old. "When Mr Weasley sent an owl up to the castle informing us that a student had potentially been attacked I travelled down immediately. Naturally, I became confused. I, like Mr Weasley, had never seen you before and, believe it or not I do recognise all my students. And yet there you were," he said with a small, sad chuckle. "I asked Mr Weasley to recount to me the full story of what had occurred and I began to grow curious. I do hope you'll forgive me but I searched your pocket," he admitted almost guiltily. "And I discovered this." Seemingly out of no-where he revealed the glittering necklace.

Dominique sprang away from it. "That thing needs to be thrown into a pit," she whispered, glaring at it while it twinkled unassumingly in the moonlight.

"Do you know what it is?" Dumbledore asked.

"I have my suspicions," she admitted, her heart dropping, hoping against all reason that she was wrong.

"This, Miss James," Dumbledore began, using her new alias, "is a time-turner." Dominique's heart froze mid-beat but the Headmaster went on. "It appears as though, unless I am mistaken and it was used intentionally, you have accidentally sent yourself back _some_ time. You see, I'm not sure where, or rather when, you originated but I can confirm that you are currently in 1993; the 5th of September to be exact."

Dominique was speechless, unable to form a cohesive sentence or even string together a comprehensible thought. In the end she decided to mask her shock with anger in true Weasley style. "What was that _thing_ doing on the train?" she demanded. While she silently vowed to personally murder the toerag responsible for this mess, Dumbledore considered her with a sympathetic look.

"We cannot be sure," he said. "There are, of course, multiple theories regarding time travel. Some would suggest that discovering it was an entirely random occurrence and your presence here is moored in chance. Another theory hypothesizes circular time, suggesting that your coming here was no accident but rather pre-determined and so your actions are already fixed and will inevitably result in the future from which you have just travelled. Others suggest that your being here could destroy the very fabric of time and space itself."

 _Oh, so no biggie._

"You sure have a lot of information just lying around for when it becomes useful, don't you?" Dominique noticed weakly, earning a chuckle from the Headmaster. In fact, she was slightly bothered by how cavalier he was being about the end of the literal end of the world - but then _she_ was taking the whole thing rather well considering…maybe even a little _too_ well. "You know I feel like I should be screaming right now but I can't find it in me. Weird, right?"

"Ah, that would be the calming draught I requested Madame Pomfrey give you when you woke up."

"That would explain it," Dominique agreed. "Well if you send me back now it's not like I can have done too much damage, is it?" _I can go back and pretend this whole thing never happened and my mum will never know and I'll live to a jolly old age without being murdered._

Dumbledore's expression shifted and Dominque's heart seemed to stop again. If this kept up she'd wind up with a murmur. "I'm afraid," he said gravely, "that at the present time, that is not a possibility."

There was a weighty silence. "I'm sorry?" Dominique asked, praying that she'd misheard.

"Unfortunately it would appear that the time-turner has been damaged." He raised it higher and Dominique could finally see the odd bend in its form and the crack forming along the hourglass' side. "Further, this time-turner is likely from your time, I suspect with magic completely unknown here, or rather now. If it were not you could not possibly have travelled back so far in time. From a preliminary examination I can see that it does, in fact, possess the ability to travel forward through time, which I must say is _exceedingly_ rare. However, it will take some time to uncover its secrets and discover how it functions, how it works. I cannot estimate how long," he said. Condolence seemed to radiate from his eyes. "It may be years."

Forget the wind being knocked out her, Dominique felt as though someone had conjured a cyclone in her ribcage and was dragging it up through her throat. "Years?" she croaked. Trapped in the past. In 1993, at Hogwarts with her teenage aunts and uncles running about the joint. Voldemort preparing to tear across Europe and plunge the continent into the Second Wizarding War. She was doomed. Dominique stared at Dumbledore imploringly. "What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?"

The Headmaster looked mildly surprised. "You'll stay here, of course."

Dominique's head dropped into her hands. As tempting as it was to stay somewhere safe, somewhere familiar, she suspected that mingling with her adolescent aunts and uncles during study break wasn't going to be great for the wellbeing of the universe. "That's not a good idea. I have family here, what if they recognise me?" Sure, Percy hadn't but maybe that was just a one off.

Dumbledore seemed to consider the problem carefully for a moment. "Miss James, I believe that if you do not actively attempt to divert the course of the future, you may be able to prevent any major damage to the timeline." She was momentarily relieved before he went on. "However, that is not to say that any action of yours will inevitably result in the same future you came from, rather, the future created ultimately will stimulate your initial return to the past. Further, I believe that if you were to return to your time via the time-turner, your presence in the past would be completely forgotten, eradicated from the minds of all who interacted with you. Conversely, if you were…unable to leave the past, your presence in the future could be eradicated; rather you'd continue on here."

Dominique stared at him blankly, sure that she wouldn't have understood a word of what he'd just said even if she was fully mentally equipped for the moment anyway. Dumbledore smiled as a show of sympathy. "Fundamentally, your presence here could be either entirely accidental or predetermined; you could have no effect on the future or you could change it entirely."

 _The man speaks in riddles,_ Dominique thought to herself. Pushing that aside, she tried to get a grasp on the bigger picture and frowned at the Headmaster. "So aside from all those technicalities, what you're saying is...what exactly?" she asked "You want me to stay at Hogwarts as…a student?"

"I think that would be for the best," he replied. "Needless to say whilst you're here a few precautions will be necessary to protect both yourself and the future. I'm afraid you'll have to leave your true identity behind you for the time being, at least until the time-turner is repaired."

Dominique bit her bottom lip, not needing to voice the fact that she wasn't particularly keen on wandering around as someone else - especially when it was for an unspecified period of time – while her unaware aunts and uncles hurried from class to class around her. "I'm not sure I can do that, Professor...but I'll try," she finally confessed, hands trailing over the rough white hospital sheets. Only yesterday, at least in her mind, she'd been complaining about the excessive amount of holiday homework set for Fourth Year History of Magic; today she was grasping at the quickly fraying stitches of the space-time continuum. It all seemed a bit much for a fourteen year old to handle.

At least Dumbledore sounded sincere. "I have the utmost faith in you, Miss James. We had best get started right away," he said, conjuring a piece of parchment and a quill with a pop.

"Get started, sir?" Dominique asked warily.

"On your new identity."

Creating a false identity turned out to be an unexpectedly lengthy process and by the end of it Dominique had a newfound respect for undercover Aurors and their ability to meticulously memorise the nuances of their fake personalities. Thankfully Dumbledore decided to keep it simple – as simple as possible for the mysterious new girl who'd been attacked by Dementors on the train to school. It was the sort of thing James would find hilarious, Dominique thought with a half-annoyed, half-fond pang to the heart.

 _Just call me Dominique Weasley: Interdimensional Woman of Mystery._

Sticking with the James name that Percy and inadvertently spread and adding on the Sam that Dominique herself had blurted out earlier she became Samantha Rose James, choosing her middle-name from a fresh bouquet decorating the bedside table across from her. She happily stayed fourteen and Dumbledore decided that it would be easier to simply adjust her actual birthday, March 13th, to the more contextually accurate year of 1979. Her backstory was slightly more complicated. Samantha James was born to pureblood English parents, home-schooled by the pair of them due to their habit of frequent travelling. No siblings, some distant relatives overseas. Following her parent's recent deaths in an experimental spell gone wrong Sam had been offered a place at Hogwarts by the Headmaster, a close friend of the family's for some time.

As warm morning light began to peak over the arched windows and spill on the stone floor Dominique stifled a yawn and sank back in the bed slightly. _Time travel really takes it out of you_ , she thought tiredly. Dumbledore, however, appeared completely alert and Dominique marvelled at his energy. His blue eyes raked over the parchment with Samantha James' details and he paused for a moment. "And now let us discover what House you are in," he announced. With a flick of his wand the ancient Sorting Hat appeared at Dominique's feet.

 _That_ woke her up. "I've already been sorted!" she spluttered. "I'm in Gryffindor, sir!" she added hastily.

"Miss James," Dumbledore said, deliberately using her new name, "your circumstances have dramatically changed. You may very well be a different person here than you were in your own time." His tone was kind but Dominique could hear the authority behind it. It wasn't a request.

Grumbling, she gingerly picked up the tatty material and glowered at Dumbledore until the hat's brim flopped over her eyes. Four years on and it was still too big. _Let's get this over with._

'Well, well, well, what have we here?'

Dominique screwed up her nose as the musty scent filled her nostrils. _Gryffindor, please._

'Oh yes, we've been here before, haven't we?' The hat mused. Dominique's stomach dropped and she almost ripped it off her head. 'Don't worry, I won't tell,' it promised slyly, 'and even if I did who would believe an old hat?'

Dominique, however, remained rigid; she was being taunted by a sentient, time-transcendent bonnet. _You placed me in Gryffindor - red and gold, you know?_

'You certainly are courageous…to the point of idiocy I might add…but then again…times have changed,' the hat mused. She could practically feel it smirking at her and fantasised for a moment about setting it on fire – when it was safely off her head of course.

'Fire has no effect on me,' it said, 'you don't make it ten centuries under a 'highly flammable' label. Although…that was a rather Slytherin thing to think.'

 _You wouldn't dare._

'Wouldn't I?'

She knew the answer to that - of course it would. The hat went on. 'On the other hand, you could very well benefit from learning some patience. The trials ahead will need much more than bravery…dedication, loyalty, trust, kindness…'

Dominique had a sinking feeling she knew where it was going with this. _If you're planning on putting me there –_

'It would make a nice fit, I believe.'

 _You can't put me there! I'm everything that they're not supposed to be - I'm selfish, I'm lazy, I'm spiteful, I've got it all!_ Dominique's argument dissolved into a string of threats involving hats and lighter fluid. _I swear to God I'll take your patchy, brown lining and stuff it right up –_

" **HUFFLEPUFF!"** The hat bellowed to the Hospital Wing.

Dominique tore it off her head and threw it upon the bed, glaring at it with enough intensity that she hoped it'd burst into flames. Her life had just gotten a whole lot harder because of a stupid, stuck-up, overly powerful, omniscient piece of headwear. From necklaces to hats, accessories were turning against her. Breaking away from her glare, she peered up to find Dumbledore watching her with interest. "Not pleased I surmise?"

Dominique crossed her arms and let out a huff. "I'm a Gryffindor."

"Perhaps in your own world, but you'll find that time tends to change people," the Headmaster said kindly. "And for humans, stubborn as we are, change can often do us good."

Dominique didn't respond but begrudgingly admitted to herself that considering her entire family was in Gryffindor and she was supposed to be avoiding them there could be some benefits. _But did it have to be Hufflepuff…_ "Is that all then?" she questioned, failing to conceal her annoyance as another yawn rumbled through her. She was going to fall asleep whether willingly or not pretty soon.

"There is one last thing," Dumbledore said, carefully tucking away the now detailed parchment in his cloak. He tapped the Sorting Hat with the tip of wand and it dematerialised, Dominique hoped to some far-off dimension of pain. "In order to ensure that you are entirely disguised your appearance really should be modified."

Dominique's face contorted with apprehension. "You're not going to make me drink Polyjuice Potion are you?" she asked, wrinkling up her nose in distaste. From all accounts it tasted like goblin piss.

"Nothing quite so drastic, no. You'd be surprised by how powerful tiny changes can be, so if you'll permit me?" Dumbledore flicked his wand and a small bedside mirror hovered towards Dominique. She held it out in front of her and examined her exhausted face. _As long as he doesn't make me look like a pufferfish._ After a long moment she exhaled and nodded consent.

With a measured flourish of Dumbledore's wand she felt a shiver run through her body from her scalp to her toes as though someone had just cracked an egg above her head. Dominique watched in awe as her blonde hair darkened to a deep brown and her fringe retreated into her scalp, her long hair rising with it until it hung just below her chin. Blue eyes, wide with astonishment, swirled to a bright hazel that stood out against the stained mirror glass. Her fingers ghosted over her face, mesmerised by the change and feeling not at all like Dominique Weasley but very much like Samantha James. "This is so creepy."

The Headmaster chuckled. "A necessary precaution, I'm afraid. There is no guarantee that it will protect you of course, however-"

"Worth a try, right?" Dominique interrupted, tearing her now hazel eyes away from her reflection. That was going to take some getting used to.

"Correct," Dumbledore agreed. "I'll explain to Madame Pomfrey and Mr Weasley that you travelled under disguise on the way to Hogwarts, a technique instilled in you by your rather cautious parents, but that the disguise is no longer necessary. That should explain any physical discrepancies. As for your uniforms and school equipment I'll have a trunk prepared for you and left in the Fourth Year Hufflepuff girl's dormitory along with anything else you may need. A small fund exists traditionally for students in need of financial assistance when they begin their First Year but I'm sure the rules can be bent on this occasion."

Dominique knew she should say something but, feeling both overwhelmed and exhausted, all that came out in response was a laboured yawn. The Headmaster nodded understandingly and headed towards the large oak doors. "I'll let you rest, Miss James, but I expect to see you at dinner tonight – you have been asleep for near a week after all and the other students are rather curious." He bid her farewell with a twinkle in his eyes.

Just before he reached the door Dominique called out. "Professor Dumbledore! Thank you!"

He smiled. "I wish you luck and strongly advise you not to meddle with the path fate has chosen. Whatever you do Miss James, endeavour your hardest to not interfere with time."

If only it were that easy.


	3. The Mysterious Miss James

**The Mysterious Miss James**

Dominique's brilliant plan had gone slightly awry.

Counter to her schemes, slipping into the Great Hall near the very end of dinner had not, as she'd anticipated, done much to deter the inevitable attention the mysterious Miss James would receive. If anything, the fifty or so students dispersed along the four house tables seemed far more attuned to her presence than if she'd just slipped in with the camouflaging mass of the school earlier. Hogwarts didn't have new students, not outside of the First Years at least, and the peculiarity of her position was boring into her along with the curious stares unabashedly aimed her way.

She sat stiffly, eyes trained on her plate and wishing nothing more than to dissolve into the warm gravy that swirled around her dinner. The whispers at least had died down from crackling hiss they'd been on her arrival to steady murmur, washing over her uneasily.

Dominique glanced round mutinously, heads hurriedly looking away as her eyes roamed over the hall. She should've eaten earlier, got it out of the way – or better yet boycotted the Great Hall altogether and hidden in the kitchens. She scowled, feeling one pair of bespectacled eyes on her in particular and peered at the teacher's table, newly hazel eyes meeting Dumbledore's sparking blue. He smiled at her reassuringly and Dominique fought the urge to scoff. If he thought this was going well he wasn't paying close enough attention.

Luckily or not, the Hufflepuff table was by far the least populated of the night and Dominique had been given a wide berth as nobody yet had courage enough, or perhaps interest enough, to ask her who the hell she was and what the hell she was doing at their school. Across from her, the girl closest seemed completely oblivious to her existence. _Small mercies_. She was preoccupied with twirling her goblet of pumpkin juice in the air, murmuring an incantation under her breath, the cup dipping dangerously whenever she paused to breath. Behind her a group of inquisitive Second Years openly stared at Dominique, blushing and quickly turning away when she cleared her throat pointedly and met their gaze.

The journey from the Hospital Wing to the Great Hall itself hadn't exactly been a walk in the park either. She'd nearly broken an ankle diving behind a tapestry as her Aunt Ginny, in all her tween glory, rounded the corner. By the time she'd spotted Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione and Uncle Harry approaching from the marble staircase she'd managed to calm her sporadically thumping heart only to have it beat itself into a second round of hysterics.

Her eyes wandered surreptitiously over to the Gryffindor table where the three of them were huddled, heads pressed together conspiratorially. They had a conspicuously noticeable air of being 'up to something' - _surprise, surprise_. Dominique pouted and propped her chin up with her arm, watching her family with a strange mix of dismay and envy. Part of her didn't want to be within a thousand miles of them in case the unthinkable happened and one of them recognised her. The other part wanted to shove Ron along the table and plop down next to him under the roaring lion banners where she belonged. Her hand unconsciously travelled up to her neck and she fidgeted with her stripped Hufflepuff tie. It felt tighter somehow as she tugged at it. Yellow just wasn't her colour.

Suddenly a sharp clatter rang out and pumpkin juice spilled across the table. Dominique gasped and automatically shot up as the icy cold liquid sloshed directly onto her lap. "I am so sorry!" The girl who'd been levitating the goblet had horror visibly etched across her olive features. She reached over and faltered, unsure of what to do as a vibrant orange stain appeared on Dominique's skirt.

"It's fine," Dominique muttered as the chilly juice began to feel sticky on her skin. The racket had drawn the attention of what felt like the rest of the Great Hall, providing them with a reason to stare. _It's confirmed - I'm cursed._

"I can fix it," the other girl promised hurriedly, aiming her wand at Dominique's robes. She murmured something and the stain began to vanish until there was no evidence of it at all.

Dominique felt her lips tilting up. "You have _got_ to teach me that," she said earnestly. _Mum'll lose half of her 'how 'ave you ruined yet anozer uniform' ranting reserve if I've got that in my arsenal._ Quidditch stains could be rough on robes.

"Tergeo," the girl said, seeming relieved now that she was sure Dominique wasn't about to curse her.

"Er...bless you?"

The Hufflepuff laughed. "That's the incantation, I mean."

Dominique's brow lifted skeptically. Spells always had such weird sounding names. "It sounds like a fungal infection. What were you trying to do, anyway?" she asked, spooning a handful of green peas onto her plate after sinking back into her seat.

"Oh I was just practising levitation, revision you know? Flitwick thinks I'm a bit shaky so I'm trying to sort it out before class really picks up. A full year until OWLs but the teachers are setting homework like its next week!" She glanced at the now half-empty goblet ruefully, "Guess I really could use some work, though."

Dominique paused and looked up interestedly. "You're a Fourth Year, then?" She nodded. "Huh, same," Dominique mused, shovelling some mashed potatoes in her mouth.

The other girl seemed confused for a moment before her face lit up in realisation. "You're the girl from the train! The one who was attacked!" Dominique frowned through the mouthful of potatoes and her companion's face faltered. "Sorry, you probably don't want to be reminded of that," she said apologetically. "I'm Leanne, Leanne Baker. I guess we'll be sharing a dormitory then."

She held out a hand and Dominique was suddenly glad that she was mid-chew; her mouth had automatically moved to introduce herself as Dominique Weasley. She swallowed carefully and shook Leanne's hand. "Sam James," she said, the name sounding strange coming from her voice.

As they spoke Dominique grew increasingly thankful that Dumbledore had properly ingrained Sam's backstory in her subconscious beforehand because Leanne became a sort of unwitting interrogator. When they reached the part of Dominique's supposedly dead parents a real lump formed in her throat at the thought of her family, so far away yet right in front of her. Leanne said something about coming down with a serious case of foot-in-mouth disease and Dominique's eyes strayed over to the Gryffindor table again, noticing finally that the Great Hall was nearly deserted.

"We'd better get to the Common Room, curfews at nine," Leanne said, rising. "It must've been nice not having one," she prompted and Dominique didn't bother confiding that technically she'd had the same curfew for the past four years. When you had almost unlimited access to an invisibility cloak small details like that became redundant. With a quiet groan Dominique realised for the first time how comparatively difficult life was going to be without one of those always at the ready.

"It had its moments," she replied, quietly latching onto the fact that these days Harry had the invisibility cloak, probably along with the Marauder's Map. She'd have to watch out for that.

"Leanne! Leanne!" a voice called out as they ducked into the Entrance Hall. A pretty brunette came hurrying forward, slightly red in the face as she fell into step alongside them. "Have you seen Mike, I need to get his half of the Defence Against the Dark Arts project before tomorrow morning, I-" She paused suddenly on noticing Dominique, looking slightly embarrassed. "Er, hello."

"Katie Bell this is Sam James, Sam James this is Katie Bell," Leanne introduced.

"Nice to meet you," Dominique grinned, spotting her Gryffindor tie.

"You too," Katie smiled. "I swear I'm not always such a mess but I really need to find Mike," she said, turning back to Leanne expectantly.

"You know Lupin won't mind if you finish it in class-"

"Lupin?" Dominique echoed, whirling to a stop.

"Professor Lupin, Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor," Katie explained. "We get a new one pretty much every year but so far he seems alright." Leanne agreed while Dominique struggled with the revelation that sometime in the immediate future she'd be meeting Teddy Lupin's father. She wasn't sure whether she was excited or frightened - but then again that seemed to have become her default disposition of late. Shaking her head dazedly, they strolled on until Katie made to leave up a set of stairs heading towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Dominique almost followed her.

"I'll let Mike know you're looking for him," Leanne called as they plodded down some steps.

"Thanks, Leanne. I'll see you tomorrow. You too Sam," Katie smiled over her shoulder.

At first Dominique thought they were headed to the kitchens, performing a double-take as they passed the ticklish pear painting. Leanne led them through an unassuming wooden door and Dominique couldn't help but let out a snort at realising the Common Room was in the basement. What a Hufflepuff move. A solitary collection of barrels piled across from them set her face in a frown and had her questioning how they were supposed to get in.

She observed as Leanne drew out her wand and tapped the barrels in an intricate pattern, the beat reverberating through the wooden basement. She was reminded of the Leaky Cauldron's entrance to Diagon Alley as Leanne warned her, "If you get it wrong you'll be soaked in the contents of the barrel - vinegar I think."

"Wouldn't be the first time tonight," Dominique teased, stumbling in after Leanne as she smiled guiltily and climbed through the newly formed barrel entrance.

One word sprang to mind when Dominique first set foot in the Hufflepuff Common Room: _hobbits._

The basement chamber with its low ceilings, warm lighting and cosy atmosphere was incredibly Baggins-esque. Thick sunshine coloured rugs were spread across the mahogany floor and the black badger symbol adorned the doorhandles and unlit fireplace. Live greenery hung from the oval windows in various pots, giving the room an earthy, natural feel, and the walls were lined with more barrels of something that gave the room a soft honey scent.

Leanne headed towards a cushioned alcove of the oval room where a bunch of boys were huddled round a wizard's chess set and Dominique began to feel eyes landing on her once more. Growing weary of feeling like Hogwarts' newest sideshow attraction she spotted the stairs to the dormitories and weaved her way through the plentiful couches dispersed throughout the area, suspecting that pretty soon the shrilly singing plants stacked in the corner would get on her nerves. As the dormitory door swung shut behind her the tune was muffled and Dominique wondered how the others hadn't simply stunned them yet before the answer came to her – _Hufflepuff patience_.

She scowled slightly before turning round to properly inspect the girl's dormitory, noticing first the soft buttery bedding spread across the four four-poster beds, her borrowed trunk propped up against the closest, lining the circular room. _So much yellow_ , she thought. _Surely there isn't this much red back in Gryffindor_. The windows, popping out from what must've been the Hogwarts grounds, were squat and thick and Dominique worried that she was going to develop a vitamin deficiency from living half-underground. The high windows of Gryffindor tower suddenly seemed like a luxury and Dominique realised how much she'd taken the sweeping castle views for granted. The dormitory door abruptly snapped closed behind her and she jumped.

"Sorry," Leanne apologised, following her gaze to the stubby windows. "It's a bit strange at first, I know. But soon you'll be so used to it that you'll miss it when you're at home." Dominique's throat constricted and she nodded wordlessly, offering Leanne a tight smile and resolving that her first night back at Shell Cottage she'd drag her mattress out onto the beach and sleep under the stars, with nothing but sky above her.

Seeking a respite from her new reality, if only for the night, Dominique quickly changed, offering fleeting smiles to the dormitory's two other inhabitants, a wiry blonde girl named Tabitha Smith and the shorter, more timid Anna Sorenson, as they entered. Settling in under the canary yellow quilt she secretly wished she could charm it scarlet and sighed, turning over and pulling the curtains of her four-poster shut with a goodnight to the others. She drifted off uneasily to the hope that tomorrow would be easier.

* * *

Tomorrow wasn't easier. In fact the morning quickly devolved into a small scale disaster and Dominique was acutely aware of the considerable audience watching the affair with interest.

Not exactly the brightest student when she _wasn't_ juggling the demands of the space-time continuum, the week she'd spent unconscious ensured that Dominique struggled to understand a word her new teachers were saying. She was quite sure that Professor McGonagall, no longer the Headmistress but the Transfiguration Professor, was convinced that she was mentally deficient. Leanne, thankfully, had proven to be a godsend and each time she whispered instructions from the corner of her mouth to a panicking Dominique she grew more and more grateful for the pumpkin juice fiasco of the night before.

Then there was the hoard of students that alternated between gawking and not-so-subtly whispering when she passed, the word _'Dementor'_ shadowing her like a smoke trail throughout the castle. She couldn't decide if they were better or worse than the bunch that had nerve enough to introduce themselves, her meddlesome family naturally among them.

Dominique was well aware that she wasn't handling said introductions with the nonchalance she intended.

Katie Bell had seemed concerned when she visibly froze on approaching with her Quidditch teammates Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson during break. In her defence though, Dominique eventually managed to wave it off as a momentary brain malfunction to an amused Katie before forcing herself to casually discuss the Hogwarts Quidditch tournament with her teenage aunt. When her Uncle George had sidled up, his mirror image grinning mischievously beside him, she had nearly had an aneurism. Fred Weasley, her deceased, dead, _not alive_ uncle, had found the look on her face oddly hilarious and Dominique had quickly excused herself during his third rendition of her reaction to seek refuge in the girl's bathroom.

Staring at her unfamiliar reflection, Dominique chewed her lip fretfully and tucked a piece of short brown hair behind her ear. Perhaps the only positive to arise from the situation was the realisation that things really could've been worse. Her parents, thank Merlin, were both overseas, her father running round Egypt desecrating tombs for Gringotts and her mother sashaying around northern France somewhere – well at least for a year. A swooping sense of déjà vu flooded her at the thought of the impending 1994 Triwizard Tournament, causing problems across decades. Dominique gripped the cool porcelain sink and felt her knuckles strain against her freckled skin. She steadied herself and exhaled evenly, eyeing her tense reflection. Dumbledore had to fix the time-turner by then; she didn't think she could handle experiencing a full Marty McFly episode.

Overhead the class bell reverberated loudly and Dominique's lips set to a grim line. She hesitated another beat before sighing resignedly and grabbing her bag to rush towards the last and most dreaded class of the day: Potions. Severus Snape's reputation preceded him by several decades, nasty temperament, greasy hair and skill as a Legilimens included. Dominique had seriously considered ditching but Dumbledore's warning, _'don't draw attention to yourself'_ , rang irritatingly clear in her memory.

Nobody apparently dared to audibly breathe in Snape's potions classroom and, slipping in a few minutes late, Dominique noticed it was far gloomier and far stuffier than she recalled. Quietly sliding into the empty seat beside Leanne, she thought her lateness had escaped the potion master's attention until he slowly turned, billowing black robes twisting with him, and his cold black eyes settled disquietingly on Dominique. She held her breath.

"Miss James joins us at last..."

His voice was deceptively soft; a low, venomous velvet that made the hairs on the back of Dominique's neck bristle. "Whilst it would appear that your…relationship…with the Headmaster has permitted certain allowances up until this point, I would not expect any special treatment in _this_ classroom." She shifted anxiously under his unwavering gaze, noting that he seemed to punctuate each word with a barely perceptible sneer. "Ten points will be taken for your tardiness. Do not let it happen again."

Dominique's cheeks flushed and she trained her eyes on the blackboard behind him. "Yes, sir." _Tell me again why Uncle Harry named his kid after this guy?_

Focusing on copying down the complicated instructions to the potion they were supposed to be brewing, which predictably for all Dominique understood could've been hieroglyphics, her mouth lifted up into a grateful smile when Leanne nudged her, inclining her head towards a message she'd scribbled in the corner of her notebook. 'Don't worry about it. He's like that with everyone.'

Marginally uplifted, Dominique set to work on dicing her gurdyroot, hoping that perhaps under Leanne's guidance their potion wouldn't be a complete disaster after all. She was just measuring out a vial of swelling solution when the girl in front of them twisted round, expression apologetic. "You don't happen to have a spare ladle, do you?" she asked, a Scottish lilt colouring her voice.

Dominique glanced up and gasped, the swelling solution slipping from her fingers and smashing against the cauldron's rim, splashing all over her and _Tyler Tran_. Shocked eye's still locked on the object James Potter's affections, Dominique could feel the mixture seeping through her robes.

" _Shit."_

Seconds later she found herself, fellow victim in toe, hurtling through the castle corridors in search of the Hospital Wing, their movement slow and awkward as their bodies began to swell under the influence of the potion. They must've resembled two vaguely human-looking beach balls rolling away in distress. Dominique couldn't help but giggle as she glimpsed the other girl raise a swollen hand to her equally swollen cheek in despair.

Her name was Chang, it turned out, not Tran. Dominique had learnt as much when, in what she'd quickly come to realise was typical Snape fashion, the potions master had swooped over looking very much like an overgrown bat, hastily ordering them to the Hospital Wing and deducting points from Hufflepuff as they bolted. _They'll be begging Dumbledore to take me back soon_ , Dominique mused drolly.

Madame Pomfrey barely glanced up, arching a single brow as they burst through the large oak doors. "Back so soon?"

"There was a _minor_ incident in Potions," Dominique said dismissively, voice stifled from her sausage-sized lips.

The Matron quickly ushered them onto the closest free beds and Dominique crossed her legs as Madame Pomfrey began plastering ointment on the Chang girl's anxious face. As the swelling reduced Dominique began to notice small differences between her and Tyler. Tyler was slightly taller and her hair a shade or two lighter; Dominique's unfortunate victim's face was rounder, her eyes faintly larger. When you looked for it the difference was perceptible but otherwise they could've been twins. Almost like Victoire and Fleur, Dominique pondered, registering a moment later that it was most likely _exactly_ like Victoire and Fleur. Staring at her fellow sick-mate Dominique realised that this had to be Tyler Tran's mother.

The girl in question cleared her throat and Dominique smiled sheepishly upon realising she'd been staring at her. "Sorry, it's just you look a lot like somebody I used know," she explained as Madame Pomfrey began to assail her with the bitter smelling ointment. "And sorry about the swelling solution mishap too."

"It's alright," she said. "Professor Snape tends to…er…put people on edge a bit more than usual."

Dominique grinned. "You can say that again." There was a slightly awkward pause before Dominique offered a bloated hand. It looked as though someone had tried to inflate a glove as a balloon. "I'm Sam," she introduced herself. She wasn't sure if she was concerned or relieved about how the lie seemed to flow more naturally than it had before.

"Cho," the other girl smiled, taking her hand and Dominique could've laughed at the rush of recognition. Cho Chang, Ravenclaw seeker and, according to her Uncle Ron, Harry's first crush. Dominique smirked at the parallels - like father, like son. "How're you liking Hogwarts?" Cho asked politely.

Dominique considered the question for a moment. _Well aside from the fact that my life has become a never ending game of 'will it break the universe?'_ "It's…different," she finally said. It wasn't a lie.

"It is," Cho agreed. "But it really is a wonderful place," she promised, quickly shifting into a description of the various classes and extra-curricular activities of Hogwarts circa 1993. The influx of knowledge ended up foreshadowing Dominique's first few days in the past, where it slowly dawned on her just how much times had changed and just how little she truly knew about her new reality.

There were small things like the fact that the duelling club was more of a gimmicky spell casting show than the serious physical combat training she knew and more pressing details like the evidently rampant house segregation that was practically non-existent in the future. Dominique strongly suspected that if she tried to stroll into the Slytherin Common Room like she could in her time she'd leave with fewer limbs than she entered with.

On top of class structure, the teachers themselves were vastly different, from the stout Head of Hufflepuff House Professor Sprout, who'd cheerfully greeted Dominique during her first Herbology class by handing her a muddy pot and asking her to fill it with Doxy dung, to the veritable parade of Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers Hogwarts had been graced with. On first meeting the patchy, prematurely aging Professor Lupin, who'd greeted her warmly if not exhaustedly, Dominique disguised a squeak as a cough and grimaced as she sunk into a seat beside a fellow Hufflepuff - Mike she thought his name was - who she caught casting her quizzically entertained looks in her peripheral vision that clearly indicated he doubted her sanity when she couldn't help but whisper "I see dead people" as the lesson began.

There was also the arguably more pressing fact that Voldemort was lurking about somewhere, although at least he wasn't attached to back of anyone's heads as far as she knew. With that epiphany came a number of small side-effects, for example, it turned out that 'He Who Must Not be Named' wasn't just a trendy nickname – the Dark Lord's name was taboo. It wasn't until Leanne had shattered a teacup in Divination that Dominique realised how important that distinction apparently was. She'd been recalling the string of Basilisk attacks the year before when Dominique had pondered aloud what Voldemort was getting up to these days. The name had triggered some sort of neurochemical reaction that caused Leanne's face to pale three shades whiter and her fingers to go so numb that her (thankfully empty) teacup slipped right out of them and onto the thinly carpeted floor.

"You said his name," Leanne had whispered, eyes wider than saucepans as she stared at Dominique in horror. "You can't – you shouldn't –," she stuttered. Whilst reminding Leanne to breathe and preventing her new friend's minor panic attack Dominique realised that _this_ world was an infinitely more dangerous place. One that she needed to escape before it was too late.

* * *

After an initially rocky first week Dominique's life settled into a tumultuous sort of rhythm which mainly centred around avoiding anyone she knew from her time like the future depended on it - which in all probability it did.

On the bright side, her celebrity status had died down and she was slowly allowed to fade into the background, helped exponentially when the Daily Prophet ran an article about Sirius Black hiding out somewhere in Wales that served to capture the castle's attention in terms of the 'notorious mass murderer's whereabouts. Her teachers gradually became somewhat resigned to her ineptitude as the days passed and Dominique suspected that the Headmaster had something to do with their seemingly boundless patience; excluding, of course, Snape who remained as gleefully unpleasant as ever. Even the stubby windows of the Hufflepuff Common Room steadily became typical in Dominique's mind and, ridiculous though it was, she found herself begrudgingly accustomed to the past within weeks.

In later years she'd blame her first major mistake as Samantha James on this newfound complacency.

It was Transfiguration, the second class of the morning and Dominique's thought process had drifted far from the wand movement demonstration that Professor McGonagall was crisply performing at the front of the classroom. In between bouts of doodling owls on the edge of her page and whispering absentmindedly to Katie in the seat beside her, she found herself gazing off into space, when suddenly, 'space' turned around and smirked at her.

Vision unglazing as he shot her a flirtatious wink, Dominique nearly checked over her shoulder. She quirked an eyebrow and levelled her gaze to challenge his confident stare. He was good looking, she supposed, but in a cocky, 'I know I've got a jaw you could slice cheese with' sort of way. Seconds later when McGonagall brusquely tapped him on the head with her wand and threatened to dock points he didn't appear at all ashamed.

"Katie, whose that?" Dominique whispered, subtly inclining her head his way.

Her friend craned her neck to see, her expression dropping comically as the shadow of agitation cast itself over her features. " _That_ ," Katie began with thinly veiled disgust, "is Cormac McLaggen. Trust me, do not go there."

Dominique glanced between Katie and McLaggen. Unfortunate name aside he didn't seem too bad. "What's wrong with him?" she asked, going back to her misshapen owls. "He's kind of cute."

"Just take my word, Sam. He's the last person you want to get involved with."

Dominique made a non-committal noise before scribbling a few spindly claws on her poor owl. Katie watched her for a moment, taking in her unconvinced demeanour and shrugged. "You'll see," she promised. Dominique glanced up, finding Cormac grinning at her cheekily and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face in response. _Yes she would_.

Little under three hours later she burst into the girl's bathroom, the door slamming with a resounding bang behind her. As Hannah Abbot had promised, the pair stood beside the sinks chatting easily as Leanne braided her dark hair. Dominique practically collapsed before Katie, the vision of repentance. "I take it back, I take it all back."

Katie looked at her pitifully, helping her off the floor. "What happened?"

It'd taken all of one conversation for Dominique to realise that if she was ever subjected to another 'One Million Reasons Why I'm the Best' by Cormac McLaggen again she'd pitch herself off the Astronomy Tower. Accepting McLaggen's offer to walk her to Divination had been the worst decision she'd made since picking up the time-turner. "He's just so arrogant!" she exclaimed and Leanne's reflection nodded sympathetically from the mirror. "I've never met anyone so conceited in my life!" _And I'm best friends with James Potter_. "It was all 'my father and the Minister,' this and 'hunting with politicians' that!"

Dominique had been sorely tempted to spin around and tell him that her aunt _was_ the Minister before realising that, no, actually her aunt was probably scribbling down Ancient Runes 101 somewhere in the castle.

"I won't say I told you so, Sammy," Katie said.

Leanne finished tying off her braid and threw an arm round Dominique's shoulders. "You know what might help?"

"Earplugs?" Dominique guessed. _That or a well-aimed tongue-tying charm_.

Katie laughed as Leanne steered the pair out of the bathroom, smiling. "Lunch."

When they reached the Great Hall light sunrays were spotting the busy house tables to mimic the warm, clear sky outside. Dominique smiled as they settled into a spot on the Ravenclaw table by Cho and her friend Marietta Edgecombe. Whilst she'd come to like Cho, even if she was perhaps a little too flawless for Dominique's taste, she wasn't entirely convinced about Marietta yet, not helped by the redhead's complete disregard of anything Quidditch related. In Herbology earlier that week she'd complained the whole way through the girl's discussion of the Montrose Magpie's recent losing streak and Dominique had been tempted to plant Devil's Snare under her stool. Maybe it was a Weasley thing, but she thought there was something inherently wrong with people who didn't like Quidditch. Speaking of…

"Wood's been riding me really hard recently, my entire lower half is still sore!"

Dominique spluttered, choking on the water she'd just sipped. Her wide eyes whizzed towards Katie who snickered as Leanne thumped her on the back animatedly. Cho leaned over to help while Marietta leaned away from her coughs. _"What?"_

"Quidditch practise, Sam, geeze," she clarified amusedly. "Wood as in Oliver – Gryffindor Captain."

Oh right. If Wood's future success was anything to go by, eventually captaining the Scottish National Team, his current obsession might've been worth it. Although maybe not for Katie, who was rubbing her leg with a grimace as Cho looked on understandingly. "Roger's been a bit like that too," she said, referring to the Ravenclaw Captain, "although maybe not to the same extent as Wood…" Dominique followed Cho's concerned gaze over her shoulder and saw Wood muttering to himself and pushing carrot sticks around in suspiciously Quidditch-like formations. Katie sighed long-sufferingly and Dominique giggled, the sight almost making her glad that she wasn't on the Gryffindor team this year. _Almost._

Tugging distractedly at the chuck of hair behind her ear, a habit that had quickly developed given the absence of her usually long braid to twist round, her thoughts returned to what she had termed the Quidditch dilemma. Frankly Dominique wasn't sure she could survive a year, or however long it took for Dumbledore to fix the time-turner, without Quidditch. Given that her own broom, a speedy Comet 900, was safely tucked away in the storage compartment of the Hogwarts Express in 2017, if things became desperate she'd have to break into the broom shed and go out for a midnight joyride.

"…Sam? Hey - Sam? Saaaammy?"

Dominique was broken from her reverie when a piece of cauliflower stuck gracefully to her cheek. She rolled her eyes and tossed a small chunk back at Katie who was not so secretly concealing the spoon she'd used as a mini catapult.

"Are you still not going to try out for the Hufflepuff team?" Cho repeated and Dominique shrugged noncommittally. The others thought it strange, given her obvious love of the sport, that she didn't have an interest in playing at the school's level. It was a strange thought for Dominique too, but ultimately she knew, no matter how much she wished it wasn't, that her reasoning was pretty sound.

If she made the team she'd be practically stealing some poor kid's position - for all she knew she could be unintentionally supplanting the next Gwenog Jones. And, trivial though it may have seemed, she was afraid that playing in colours other than her usual scarlet and gold would make her feel… _dirty_ ; like she was betraying her true Gryffindor loyalties to go off for a temporary dalliance with the Hufflepuff team.

Leanne naturally didn't understand. "You should! Half the team graduated last year, we'll need all the help we can get," she enthused.

Marietta watched Dominique disapprovingly as she threatened to throw a piece of bacon at Katie who'd taken cover behind her plate. "And your Captain is a Prefect too," the Ravenclaw said wistfully whilst Dominique struggled to contain her rolling eyes at the girls idolisation of the Prefects _._ "I'm sure if anyone could manage it would be Cedric Diggory but he'll clearly have to focus more on Prefect duties than Quidditch."

Dominique paused mid-toss, not noticing when Katie's broccoli bounced off her shoulder. She knew that name, realising with an uncomfortable swoop that it was another one on the list of the damned she'd been trying to push to the back of her mind ever since arriving in the past. Diggory was the boy who'd died in the Triwizard Tournament which, if things followed script, meant he had little over a year to live. Diggory, Dumbledore, Fred…there was always another name on the list that she had to ignore; people that she couldn't grab by the shoulders and advise to get the hell out of Dodge before they lost their life in the upcoming war. It was a foul, unfair thing - wicked, even.

But if she wanted to get back to her family that's exactly what she had to do. Ignore it.

"He's a really good flyer. I think he'll be brilliant," Cho said, failing to conceal the shallow blush colouring her cheeks. _They dated_ , Dominique remembered suddenly. _That's what made it so hard for Harry in the end_. She watched Cho's embarrassed smile spread as the group erupted into a chorus of 'oooo's with a remorseful wrench.

"Got a bit of a thing for the enemy Captain, huh Cho?" Katie teased, ignoring Cho's soft protests.

"It's not like that," she insisted shyly.

"It's _so_ like that," Leanne said and even Marietta managed a mischievous smirk.

Dominique smiled sadly. If she couldn't do anything to change it, she might as well make it as happy a memory as possible. "Don't worry Cho, we promise not to tell Davies," she reassured, truly laughing when Cho's head collapsed into her hands in defeat.


	4. Introductions and Temptations

**Introductions and Temptations**

Hogwarts castle had exactly one hundred and forty two staircases; something that Dominique came to resent as her weeks stretched to a month in the past. In the future, after the destruction caused by the Battle of Hogwarts, part of the castle had been rebuilt to make for more convenient access. But at his point in time there was no such luck. Of course Dominique's real troubles persisted – struggling to remember hordes of information and avoid the mere shadow of familiarity like it was infected with spattergroit, an enduring internal debate about whether or not the world could implode from a decision as simple as joining a sports team and floundering through homework a First Year could probably handle – but somehow the staircases were the worst.

As she heaved herself across yet another moving flight Dominique checked her watch and staggered, jerking back as the stairs she was navigating swivelled round. She was late…again. Overall, she was beginning to suspect that time-travel had had an inverse effect on her cognitive function and it was for this reason that she'd gratefully accepted Leanne's offer to work over their Charms homework together before Flitwick was subjected to Dominique's nonsensical dribble. It was also the reason she was late in the first place, after automatically traversing the path towards Gryffindor tower for the umpteenth time, ambling straight past the Hufflepuff Common Room, in the direction of which she was currently rushing.

Hurtling down the Grand Staircase, red faced, out of breath and wondering if she'd ever learn to just head to the bloody basement, Dominique smacked into something solid and was sent flying backwards. Her books soared out of her bag as she landed painfully on her rear before slipping down a thick stair or two amidst the black mess that'd escaped when her inkpot evidently smashed. _Fantastic._

Suddenly a hand was in her face and she almost rolled her eyes as she grabbed it, gaze still on her ruined bag as they heaved her off the ground. The hand's owner sounded worried. "Are you okay? Merlin - I'm sorry!"

Dominique twisted round sorely, inspecting her backside and thinking about the bruise the marble padding was surely going to leave. "Well my butt's going to need some time to recover but otherwise-" she paused mid-sentence on looking up, her mouth freezing as she took in the face across from her.

His bright grey eyes were searching her earnestly as though looking for injuries and as he ran a hand through his hair it seemed to fall in an effortlessly windswept fashion. He was tall, with a slightly muscular build and chiselled features. He was also one of the most attractive people Dominique had ever seen in her life. It took her a solid minute to register how to shut her gaping mouth and stop staring at him like she was a mental patient.

"And the rest of you?" he asked, small dimples appearing at the sides of his mouth as it formed into an unsure smile. Internally, Dominique swooned, externally she nodded wordlessly.

"Sorry," she finally managed. "Wasn't looking where I was going."

"Neither was I," he apologised, leaning down to grab a soggy piece of parchment from the mess. Dominique had to tear her eyes away from his face to see properly that it was covered, along with her satchel and books, in the thick black ink. At least it wasn't the swelling solution Snape had forced her to replace the other day. Disfiguring one innocent person was enough…"I suppose Weasley will just have to wait until tomorrow," he murmured more to himself than her as he scrutinized the dripping parchment.

Dominique moved to gather her bag and halted mid-stoop. "Weasley?"

"The Head Boy," he explained. Dominique lips titled up as he chivalrously knelt down to collect her scattered books himself and she gathered them with a grateful thanks before dumping them into her satchel. This lot would need one hell of a tergeo-ing later. At least none had gotten on their uniforms, she thought, finally noticing with a thrill that they shared a House. "This is – _was_ – the patrolling timetable," the nameless Hufflepuff continued.

 _Ah so he's a Prefect_ , she realised, gaze landing on the badge pressed against his striped tie. The badger emblem reminded her of Leanne waiting patiently somewhere in their Common Room and she started to descend the stairs with another quip at the boy she'd collided with. "Making Percy Weasley wait – you must be brave," she said, smile stretching at the warmth in his answering chuckle.

"Or foolish," he countered, falling in step beside Dominique, whose stomach did a somersault as she realised he was heading the same way. Shrugging off the tingle in her fingers as a reaction to the Autumn breeze flowing through the unbolted castle doors, she reprimanded herself and subtly tried to shake her head as though to dispel a daze. Now was not the time to go weak at the knees...no matter how fit he was.

Mimicking an air of casual detachedness, she scrutinised the Hufflepuff as they passed by the pear portrait that led onto the kitchens and he was momentarily illuminated by a beam of torchlight. There was no denying he was one of those people that turned members of the opposite sex into bumbling messes. She wondered if he knew it. "I don't think we've been introduced," Dominique tested.

"You probably wouldn't remember me if we had," he looked down and smiled. "How many people have you met over the last few weeks?"

Dominique chose to keep a lid on the fact that - with a facial structure like that - she strongly doubted she would've forgotten _that_ particular introduction. "A fair few," she replied instead.

"Enough to be more than a bit overwhelming?" he guessed.

She shook her head with a chuckle beneath her breath. "You have _no_ idea."

Seconds later the barrel entrance came into view and Dominique started unconsciously chewing her bottom lip as their conversation threatened to come to a close. Her speculation of whether or not it was a good idea to go around making new acquaintances when she was supposed to be keeping a low profile stirred her hesitation; she _really_ didn't want to experience a McLaggen 2.0. regardless of how humble or well-balanced an individual the currently unnamed and freakishly handsome person on her flank seemed.

But as he raised his wand to tap the barrel password across the entrance, Dominique abruptly decided to hell with it - what was the worst that could happen? "I'm Sam James," she said, perceiving that he didn't seem surprised to hear it.

With the barrels lids sliding open beside them, he stowed his wand, offered a hand and grinned. "Cedric Diggory." With those words the nonchalant expression slipped from Dominique's face and was instead replaced by a wide, horrified stare that flickered from Cedric's outstretched palm to his slightly concerned smile as she continued to stand rooted to the spot. "Sam?" Cedric prompted.

 _Somebody up there really hates me._

Dominique blurted out the first thing that popped into her mouth, something, _anything_ to get away. "I've just remembered I left my broom unattended in the Astronomy Tower, how silly of me!" Without stopping for a second glance, she turned heel and half sprinted back up the stone corridor, nearly mowing down a gaggle of First Years as she went.

Cedric's confused voice carried after her as she ripped up the stairs. "The Astronomy Tower?"

* * *

"It doesn't make any sense. Nothing makes sense anymore. There is no reason. Life is meaningless."

Dominique slumped forward, deflating against the stack of books heaped on the polished wooden table in front of her. Along with Leanne and Katie, she'd been trapped in the library for the last several hours trying to forcefully drill the banishing charm into her brain and avoid another round of Flitwick's disappointed lectures. Her eyes were exhausted from staring at the tiny textbook's letters until they blurred and Dominique thought pretty soon she'd need spell-o-tape to keep them pried open. Thus far osmosis had been unsuccessful.

"There, there," Katie murmured, patting Dominique on the shoulder and suppressing a snicker.

With her nose squashed against the musty spell books, Dominique's response was a nasal moan. "Why do I need an overly-complex charm for flinging things across the room when I have a perfectly good arm?"

"Well," Leanne reasoned, prying the Standard Book of Spells: Grade 4 from Dominique's makeshift headrest, "there are some things that you can't physically throw. Like a boulder or a piano." Whilst Katie asked why anyone would want to throw a piano and Dominique complained some more, Leanne's lips thinned to an unimpressed line. "Maybe it's time to shift focus. We've got to finish the questions on Nifflers before the next Care of Magical Creatures lesson," she suggested, shifting through her scattered parchment.

"Before more quality time with the flobberworms, you mean," Dominique grumbled. In last few days some Third Year twat had messed around with a notoriously touchy hippogriff and now the rest of the school was dedicated to glorified compost farming for the remainder of the academic year. The most exciting Care of Magical Creatures got these days was when someone accidentally stepped on a flobberworm.

Katie shuddered at the thought. "Now _there's_ something I'd want to banish." The other two murmured in agreement.

Whilst Nifflers were markedly more interesting, Dominique found herself quickly growing bored again and lulled in her chair, eyes roaming over the ceiling high bookshelves that transformed the library into a labyrinthine maze. It'd only recently dawned on her how little time she'd spent in there, both in her world and this one – as far as she could tell it hadn't changed much at all, maybe a few less shelves here and there but realistically she wouldn't know. Running around with James Potter and Lysander Scamander meant you tended to spend more time in secret passages, kitchens and general out-of-bounds areas than anywhere densely populated with books.

It was a testament to how different her new friends were to the old ones. Leanne dragged her in there once every few days to make sure she got her homework done, becoming a bit of an unofficial superintendent. Dominique suspected that she was not-so-secretly attempting to convert her into a model student; a suspicion which was coupled with a nagging fear that at this rate, constantly surrounded by books, she'd spontaneously transform into her brother Louis.

"Well I suppose I shouldn't complain that you're not doing anything, considering that you actually bothered to show up this time," Leanne said, glancing up from her detailed notes to smirk at Dominique's betrayed expression.

"Oh har, har, har." Dominique said sarcastically, ignoring Katie's laugh as Leanne began to rummage through her bag for her Care of Magical Creatures textbook. "I shouldn't have told you anything," she sighed, knowing full well that she really _shouldn't_ have told her anything.

At the time though, her mind reeling from yet another encounter with the damned, when Leanne had asked why she didn't show up for their study plans she'd blurted out that she'd met a cute guy on the stairwell on the way back to the Common Room and had had a brain-to-mouth spasm before fleeing into the night. Thankfully she'd had tact enough to pretend that she hadn't caught his name or house – not that it had stopped her friend's constant teasing or their new favourite pastime of pointing out random guys in the corridors and asking if he was her mystery man. If they found out it was Diggory Dominique thought she might as well give up and decide to live out the rest of her days alone in the Forbidden Forest. She would _never_ hear the end of it.

As for Diggory himself, Dominique had been making a point to avoid him at all costs, hoping that their encounter would eventually fade into obscurity and her (hopefully not incredibly obvious) attraction to him would perish with it. She didn't linger in the Common Room any longer than was strictly necessary and if she saw someone even vaguely resembling him she'd make a beeline for the exit.

It was these measures that resulted in her unforeseen reunion with Percy Weasley, in a sort of 'out of the fire, into the blazing inferno' situation, who'd not so subtly complimented her 'new look' and vowed that making sure the student population was safe was all the thanks he needed. It seemed age had made him less pompous and Dominique was greatly looking forward to having future Uncle Percy eventually replace his bombastic teenage self.

In the present, Leanne sighed, dropping her bag on the floor. "I must've left it back in the dorm, do either of you have it?"

"I don't usually carry that thing around for fear of, you know, losing a finger," Dominique said, thinking of her particularly snappy copy of 'The Monster Book of Monsters.' _Classic Hagrid._

"Me either. I think they have copies here somewhere though," Katie said, peering towards the magical beasts section of the library.

Dominique stood up, feeling slightly wobbly as blood rushed to her stiff legs. She took it as proof that studying was physically unhealthy as she hobbled away. "I'll try to find something less bitey," she promised. On reaching the beast section, however, Dominique's legs suddenly regained full strength and she immediately turned to retreat upon recognising two figures chatting in the aisle. As her luck seemed to be going these days, she was recognised mid-pivot.

"Sam?"

Her face scrunched up. _I knew there was a reason I avoided the library. Act natural, act natural, act natural_. Taking a resigned breath, she planted a hopefully convincing mask of ease over her features. "Hey Cho, didn't see you there. Looking for Niffler stuff?" she spouted rapidly, completely avoiding eye contact with Cho's companion.

"Sam?" his voice echoed and a wave of panic rattled through Dominique as she continued to avoid his eye, her gaze trained on the floor. "How's your…er…backside?"

 _Oh Merlin_. "Doing just fine, thanks! Well I'd better go-"

"You two know each other?" Cho asked, sounding nonplussed.

"Vaguely," Dominique muttered, frantically looking for an escape route. _Mission abort, mission abort!_

Cedric chuckled and leant lightly against the bookshelf. "Was your broom alright in the end?"

She needed to get away immediately – before Leanne and Katie wandered over and naturally put the pieces together. Where oh where was an invisibility cloak when she needed one? "Everything was fine and dandy."

"I thought you said you didn't bring a broom," Cho said confusedly.

Dominique thought she might've been experiencing a mild heart attack. Sirens were blaring somewhere in her subconscious and her palms began to feel clammy. "Which is why it was great!" Her voice sounded high and unnatural even to her. "Tucked away safely back home! I was, er - having a traumatic flashback to the last time I left my broom unattended – which was also in a high place, like the Astronomy Tower – someone tampered with it, never been the same since - I must be living in the past!" Her nervous laughter intensified as she began to back away, not missing the perplexed, almost concerned look Cho and Cedric shared. She fanned herself hurriedly. "Is it hot in here?"

"Sam, are you alright?" Cho asked. Dominique squeaked in the affirmative. "You don't need to go to the Hospital Wing or anything?" she prompted concernedly.

"No, no, no – there is no way I'm going back there," Dominque said quickly. She'd only just managed to convince Madame Pomfrey that she was past the stage of needing daily check-ups and she didn't want to spend any more time with a thermometer shoved between her teeth than she already had. The pair seemed unconvinced. She hastily stepped back. "Well I'll see you two around, good luck with your stuff!" Dominique grabbed the closest book she could get her hands on before practically zooming away.

"Hey Sam, wait!" Dominique paused against her better judgement and warily turned round. "I was thinking – well since you have a broom you obviously play Quidditch, right?" Cedric asked almost bashfully. Dominique offered a hesitant nod, unsure if she wanted to see where this was going but ultimately clarifying with a fair amount of reluctance that she played Chaser."You should come to tryouts, if you're interested – and you're all…recovered." Another wave of bum related mortification washed over her that she tried to ignore. "They're this coming Friday. There're plenty of spots to fill," he said, with Cho nodding in encouragement beside him.

"For all you know I could be awful," Dominque replied, fighting the temptation to give in, highjack a broom and beg them to let her play. But then she had the literal fabric of time to think about here, not to mention her Gryffindor loyalties.

"Well I guess you'll have to let me see for myself," Cedric smiled.

There was a pause as Dominique considered it, the image of herself - or rather Samantha James - flying around in a canary yellow uniform. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not. Shaking herself out of her reverie she hastily nodded and scurried back over to the table where Leanne and Katie were waiting, dropping the book unceremoniously.

At the root of it all was the question of how long Dominique could hold out. How long she could pretend to be someone she wasn't, how long she could suppress her true self, how long she could ignore truths she knew and acknowledge realities she didn't want to. Quidditch, maybe a trivial thing to others, seemed to perfectly capture this conundrum, this cliff face between Dominique and Sam that threated to send her tumbling over the edge if she made the wrong move, potentially dragging the entire universe with her. It all depended on how long she could hold out – and by that logic, how long it took Dumbledore to send her back to the future.

From a spot by her elbow, she heard Leanne make a noise of confusion. "Sam…this is a book on dragon breeding habits…"

Dominique collapsed into her chair and let her head fall back against her books.

* * *

Silence permeated the empty stairwell and Dominique scuffed her trainers along the stone floor as her hand hesitated above the brass knocker. She started as the door swung forward of its own accord with a faint creak. Dumbledore was perched directly across from her behind his imposing wooden desk and Dominique had the distinct impression that he'd been expecting her. She took a cautious step forward. "Professor," she greeted.

"How are you this evening, Miss James?" he inquired, gesturing politely to the seat across from him. The office held the most bizarre assortment of items Dominique had ever encountered and she could only imagine their equally bizarre functions. The smell of ancient parchment and, oddly, gunpowder lingered in the air. As she neared the desk the portrait inhabitants decorating the high stone walls began not-so-subtly scrutinizing her, a pair murmuring amongst themselves before the others hushed them. Dominique cast an apprehensive eye in their direction before Dumbledore assured her that they were sworn to secrecy.

Chewing her lip, she sat gingerly and considered his earlier question. "I'm conflicted," she decided. "That's sort of why I'm here, Professor. I was wondering if you had any updates on the time-turner."

"I must admit I expected you to inquire earlier than this," Dumbledore said, sounding almost amused, and Dominque felt as though she were being x-rayed under his gaze. "But I'm afraid I have no further news regarding that matter. Of course I have looked into it extensively, perhaps have formulated my own theories, but I have no concrete information to share with you yet."

Dominique's head dropped and she tried vainly not to appear as crestfallen as she felt. "So what you're saying is that there's no progress, no hope? That's uplifting…" she muttered under her breath and sighed.

"There is always hope, Miss James," Dumbledore contradicted lightly.

"But you don't have - I don't know - a pair of ruby slippers back there?" she said, gesturing towards a stacked set of trunks towards the shadowed corners of the office. "No spare DeLorean parked out back?" He chuckled and Dominique was surprised he recognised the muggle references. She only understood them from her muggle-loving grandfather's steadily growing DVD collection.

"I'm afraid not. But let me assure you that, however long it takes, you will return home," he promised.

Dominique frowned at her palms. _'However long it takes.'_ Returning home wouldn't be so great if she was in wheelchair by the time it finally occurred. She'd be older than her mother - than her _grandmother._ Her hand travelled to the hair behind her ear and she fidgeted with it distractedly as she imagined trying to keep up with James and Lysander after several hip replacements.

"You seem to have adjusted quite well," Dumbledore said. "Your Professors agree on the matter." Dominique struggled to conceal a sceptical smirk. She somehow doubted that during break Professor Snape was singing her praises in the staffroom, and the rest of the teachers, whilst far more subtle, obviously had their admittedly well founded qualms.

"I don't know about that, sir," she said.

"Miss James, please understand me when I say that there are very few people who could manage what you have been forced to endure – your handling of the situation is admirable." The Headmaster was appraising her with the utmost sincerity and Dominique felt heat rise to her cheeks. The worn stone floor suddenly became very interesting and she intently studied the ancient scratches imbedded in the grain in silence, lost for what to say. "Where most would retreat into themselves you have managed to continue on as naturally as possible, which is to be commended in its own right. I'm sure your relationships with Miss Baker and Miss Bell are helping," he went on.

A reluctant smile slowly spread itself over Dominique's face at the thought of the unexpectedly close friendships she'd formed over the past month. That morning at breakfast Katie had told a joke about a vampire working as a hairdresser that sent Dominique snorting into her milk and had her wishing Katie could've known James, they'd be an unstoppable force. She'd be genuinely sorry to say goodbye when the time came. But still…the time had to come. "Leanne and Katie are great," she agreed finally.

"Of course given the climate of things it is especially important that we keep a close eye out for each other," Dumbledore's tone became grave and Dominique quirked an eyebrow.

"The climate of things?" _There's something worse going on here than_ _me being stuck in the nineties?_

"I'm afraid with Sirius Black unaccounted for we are all threatened. I'm sure you are aware of the extra precautions made regarding the upcoming Hogsmeade trip," Dumbledore explained.

That she was. She'd practically had to drag a confused Professor Sprout to Filch's office to explain that, no, she hadn't forged the Headmaster's signature, and yes, she really did have his permission to visit the village with the rest of the Fourth Years. The experience had led her to the conclusion that Filch really was a very unlikable man, his gleeful mutterings about chains and thumbscrews as he filled out her 'transgression form' not helping to soften her opinion.

It was strange to think that it was all because of an innocent man, forced to flee through Britain whilst the literal _rat_ responsible for his crimes cosied up by her uncle every night in Gryffindor tower. Dominique suppressed a disgusted shiver at the thought. "Sir, about that-"

"Miss James," Dumbledore interjected suddenly, "if what you're about to say involves knowledge derived from the future I'm afraid I cannot hear it."

"But it's important! Life changing stuff!" Dominique cried in indignation. This wasn't the first time he'd refused to acknowledge her retrospective wisdom and she doubted it would be the last.

"Exactly," Dumbledore said, as though his reasoning was self-explanatory. Not for Dominique, it wasn't.

"But, sir, what if it could…fix something? Change something for the better?" she pressed, unconsciously leaning forward in her seat. The question had been nagging at her since she'd arrived in the past. Changing things for the better, protecting people, saving people…

"Are you aware of the muggle phrase 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions?'" Dumbledore asked.

Dominique pouted childishly. "Yes," she admitted, following his line of thought with annoyance. This whole 'for the good of the many' crap was becoming tiresome.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was considering her very seriously. "Then you understand its meaning. You must not meddle with the past. The results could be disastrous – not only for you but for everything you know. Do you understand, Miss James?"

"Yes," Dominique sighed, aware of how petulant she sounded."But I don't like it." She huffed and folded her arms over her chest. _So Sirius Black remains on Wizard's Most Wanted while Pettigrew continues to scurry around the castle._ It wasn't fair. But she had her family to think of, always at the back of her mind, always preventing her from making the decision something deep down in her gut told her she ought to.

Dumbledore's countenance was sympathetic. "It's a difficult position you find yourself in. Cruel, perhaps."

 _You don't even know the half of it._ Silent seconds ticked by until Dominique rose, her chair scraping the floor with a squeak as she made to leave, a new heaviness that she didn't have on entry accompanying her. She shuffled towards the door, hoping that all her meetings with Dumbledore wouldn't end this grim and paused, hand hovering again above the bronze handle. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss James?"

"Would it be alright if I tried out for the Quidditch team?"

Dumbledore's eyes shifted apprehensively. "I would advise against it. Even the smallest change – replacing someone who was supposed to be in that position – could have drastic consequences."

Dominique hung her head dejectedly, turning back towards the door before abruptly pausing again. "What if Quidditch is the only thing that would keep me from going insane?"

The Headmaster sighed. "Then I suppose I cannot stop you. It is your choice, after all. Make it wisely," he counselled.

Dominique nodded and pushed past the wooden door. As she trailed down the spiral steps to his office she felt less encouraged than before. _Well that wasn't at all eerie or foreboding._

* * *

Friday passed in a rush of Dominique's inner turmoil and she found herself even more distracted in lessons than she usually was, earning herself a Venomous Tentacula bite and accidentally setting Marietta's robes on fire in the process – not that the latter hadn't been extremely entertaining but the detention she'd received afterwards was less welcome.

She was currently perched in the Hufflepuff Common Room's alcove, shadowed in the corner of the near empty chamber. Darkness basked the uncharacteristically quiet area and even the plant quartet had calmed down for the evening. It seemed as though the entire house was either at dinner or Quidditch tryouts; the tryouts which Dominique was trying incredibly hard not to tear towards as she chewed on the end of her sugar quill and stared at her still untouched Transfiguration homework.

She peeked at her watch, her pulse quickening slightly when she saw it was five to six. They'd be starting any moment. Her head twitched towards the stubby Hufflepuff ground windows and she found herself wishing that they peered out onto the pitch like those in Gryffindor tower. Maybe if she could've just watched the tryouts she could've received a vicarious fix. In all her life she'd never spent this much time off a broom and she was beginning to experience some major withdrawals.

 _I'm a Quidditch junkie_ , Dominique mentally sighed, tapping her sugar quill unconsciously against her notes, with the rhythm rapping around the space like a persistent drumbeat in time with her rapidly flickering thought process. _If only I could watch..._

Dominique finally made a decision. She snapped her textbook shut and shoved it, along with her bag, up in her dormitory before tripping out of the Common Room barrels and throwing herself up the winding marble staircase. She slowed on reaching the enormous stained-glassed windows of the Second Floor, left slightly ajar, and gently pushed it fully open.

The moon was hidden by a dense pack of clouds and the dark night concealed most of the pitch bar the field beams that wavered in the distance. Dominique had to squint to make out anything. A mass of dotted figures were converging onto the pitch in a blotted semi-circle, none airborne yet. Her heart quickened. Two paths stretched out before her, a crossroads materialising from her window-side view.

The first involved boycotting Quidditch for the sake of the universe. The second involved playing Quidditch for the sake of her sanity.

Her grip tightened on the glass window frame as an inviting breeze stirred the wisps of flyaway hairs framing her face, calling her out. The world hushed as a few distant figures began to kick off from the ground and hover in the air. Dominique's mind flickered with the frantic speed of dragonfly wings. "Screw it."

She turned heel and sprang through the castle like a cannonball without any regard for those caught in her trajectory, nearly tripping head first over a hissing Mrs Norris as Filch's outraged howls followed her down the stairs. She didn't look back. Running through the Entrance Chamber she blurred past Katie emerging from the Great Hall. "Hey, Sam! Where're you going?" she called.

"Quidditch!" Dominique cried, her echo trailing her as she dashed out the front doors.

The starless night was more of a danger hazard than Dominique had anticipated and she stumbled more than once as she sprinted across the uneven grounds to the stadium. She finally staggered through the stands as the field beams properly spluttered to life and saw half the assembled group lingering in the air, some obviously more confident than others, whilst the other portion stretched on the turf. They were gathered round a tall figure in canary yellow training robes - the Captain.

Dominque hesitated, her heavy breath strained. _Was this really a good idea?_

Of course it wasn't. But the deliciously fresh smell of the pitch filling her nose and the inviting line of brooms settled sleekly against the stands was temptation enough to stay. With a burst of energy she pushed herself forward, blending into the rear of the crowd, and keeled over, clutching a stich in her side. She tried and failed to conceal her noticeably ragged breath.

 _Merlin, I'm unfit._

Before she could regain her composure the group swiftly dispersed, heading to the inner ring of the pitch to run laps, and Dominique heard grass squelch under the tread of someone approaching. "You're late," Cedric noted amusedly, taking in her dishevelled form and leaning on his broom slightly. He looked like something out of a Quidditch Today article with that stance. "You alright?" he asked, failing to conceal a slight smile.

Dominique realised that inquiring about her wellbeing was rapidly becoming people's custom mode of greeting her. That wasn't an encouraging sign for the whole 'laying low' strategy. Unable to properly communicate she help up a thumbs up and wheezed out an "all good."

The Captain laughed. "You'll have to change, you won't be able to fly in those," he said, motioning to her hefty school robes.

A roguish smile played at Dominique's mouth as she lifted the side of her white shirt up to reveal the navy training tank resting underneath. "I came equipped," she panted. Perhaps, deep down she'd known from the outset that her attempts at resisting the addictive rush of Quidditch would be futile. Her conscience had at least _tried_ to put up a fight. It just wasn't a very impressive one.

"Well then disrobe and get running," Cedric grinned before mounting his broom and pushing off the turf into the air to instruct the flying drills.

Dominique was dazed, her heart stopping momentarily as his words reverberated through her mind. She shook her head dizzily and snapped back to her senses before yanking off her robes, chucking them by the stands and falling into a sprint alongside the grounded group.

Sucking in deep, measured breaths that roused her diaphragm, Dominique questioned the purpose of running laps. It was something they'd never done back in Gryffindor. Her gaze travelled up to the airborne group and she realised the basis for their separation. Considerably smaller, they were swinging heavy bats around as bludgers plunged towards them; she smiled as Mike from Defence Against the Dark Arts beat a bludger with unexpectedly brutal force and sent in careening across the field. The Common Room notice had stated that the team only needed one more potential Beater, which meant the throng alongside her, testing their stamina, were all battling it out for the two Chaser positions. Dominique's stomach swooped as she counted just how many competitors she had. She may have slightly underestimated how enthusiastic Hufflepuffs were about Quidditch.

The presence of the others melted away though when she finally felt the sleek touch of polished timber between her fingers and soared high into the night. She performed a tight loop-de-loop as a sense of pure elation thundered through her and it hardly registered that the ancient school broom she had was practically a lump of deadwood in comparison to her Comet 900. Dominique was back in her element.

Cold wind whipped at her short braid and prickled her eyes as she sped through the air, circling the pitch like a bullet whilst the other fliers formed into smaller groups. She couldn't believe that she'd even _considered_ giving this up, stability of the universe be damned. Dominique was so jubilant that she laughed at the gargoyle glare one of the drill instructors, all members on the team already, kept shooting her way. She almost looked constipated.

 _Well excuse me for having fun._

They first practised mid-air rolls and basic formations. During tossing exercises Dominique picked up that the instructors were jotting down notes and realised that the entire team decided who'd be donning the Hufflepuff yellow rather than just the Captain. Things in Gryffindor tended to be handled less democratically. Dominique wondered how they got anything done.

Around half an hour later they lined up alongside the towering goal posts and practised scoring with the team's only official Chaser, a bulky Fifth Year with short fair hair that went only by 'Cadwallader.' Although he seemed like a bit of a beef-head he, in contrast to constipation face from earlier, obviously enjoyed playing and whooped when Dominique made all of her shots. In all honesty though, she doubted that her efficiency had much to do with her own talent and rather chalked it up to the inefficiency of the Keeper who bumbled from post to post like a moth trapped in a bath.

All too soon they touched down on the turf. Hot blood thundered through Dominique's legs and they stiffened as the chilly night air enveloped them. As Cedric thanked everyone for turning up a snooty blonde kid with strangely familiar features beside her sneered and she hoped to Merlin he wouldn't be put on the team.

Nevertheless, exhausted, sweaty and happier than she'd been in a long while, Dominique gathered up her robes and fell into conversation alongside Mike as they trudged out of the stadium. Her eyes trailed over to Cedric who was looking annoyingly handsome, all glistening and sweaty, for someone who'd just led an hours' worth of drills. Dominique was fairly sure that she looked like a perspiring potato.

She frowned, her brows drawing together. She really had to get over this weird attraction to him – especially when Cho was so clearly interested. And that was probably the least pressing concern…Dominique's inner monologue was silenced however as a figure appeared abruptly in her path, forcing her to a halt. It was constipation face. Her strong jaw was set and her face guarded as she folded her arms over her chest and surveyed Dominique. "That sure as hell wasn't your first time on a broom."

"It wasn't," Dominique agreed warily. The other girl appraised her through faintly narrowed eyes before suddenly stalking off in the opposite direction. Dominique doubted she'd be receiving her vote for Team Hufflepuff.

A low whistle sounded and Dominique swivelled round to see Cadwallader watching her remorsefully. "You got Max pissed at you. Good luck, newbie," he teased before jogging over to Cedric and Summerby.

Dominique grimaced and motioned after him to an equally confused Mike. She sighed and they began the trek back towards the castle. "I don't understand Hufflepuffs."


	5. D is for Dreadful

**D is for Dreadful**

An enormous crimson D jumped out from the parchment like a searing branding iron. Dominique scanned her latest History of Magic essay lazily noticing Binns' capitalised corrections on the important difference between Urg the Unclean and Erg the Eccentric - it was clear that his fervour in marking vastly outshined his interest in teaching. Once in their second year James and Lysander had spent an entire week with her crafting aerodynamically perfect paper planes and her cousin Fred had stopped attending History of Magic altogether by his fifth year.

"Well that's unfortunate," Dominique murmured, dropping the essay into her freshly cleaned satchel, propped up against the couch she was stretched out on. The Common Room fire crackled warmly across from her, heating up the chilly October night. Another month had flown by and Halloween was looming on the horizon.

Unsurprisingly, Dominique's grade situation hadn't improved and her 'I'm still adjusting' excuse was wearing thin. Only yesterday Snape had implied that he suspected her to be part troll and Dominique was quite sure her other professors were hiding similar thoughts. Things on the time-turner side of things weren't exactly going spiffingly either. Progress was as slow as ever, except last time Dominique had decided to bug Dumbledore about it there had been an unwanted and unanticipated announcement: he was going to be teaching her Occlumency.

"It really is imperative that you learn to train your mind, Miss James," he had said while Dominique gaped at him from across his office desk.

She, meanwhile, was struggling to piece together how exactly that would work. "But - Sir! You're the one who's always telling me that I'm not supposed to be spreading any knowledge of the future! I mean, won't this kind of defeat the purpose?"

"If you will allow me a small amount of complacency, I must say that I am a rather accomplished Legilimens - so much so that I am entirely capable of limiting how far I delve into your memories, Miss James. I can assure you that that corner of your mind, the one that pertains to your past memories," here Dumbledore had stopped and chuckled lightly at the contradiction, "or in a sense _future_ memories, will remain comfortably unprodded. I will focus on the present if I may; on all that has happened since your arrival in the past."

The way he had said it told Dominique that it wasn't a matter up for discussion, and while she could understand his insistence, she wasn't particularly fond of the idea of him rummaging around through her private thoughts. But then again, as he'd repeatedly reminded her, better him than somebody else with more nefarious intentions. All in all, she was already dreading her first lesson and was planning on being conveniently ill when then time arose.

"At least Lupin passed us," Mike said from the cushy armchair beside her and Dominique's gaze travelled to their 'Acceptably' graded Banshee assignment in his hands.

"Lupin passes everyone if he can find a way," Leanne said from their other side. "Last week he gave me points for knowing that vampires are nocturnal."

Remus Lupin was quickly shaping up to be one of Dominique's favourite teachers in the past. He seemed to have been blessed with an inexhaustible amount of patience and his class was one of the few remaining in which Dominique hadn't indirectly caused someone a trip to the Hospital Wing. He and Teddy were alike, she thought; they shared the same humble smile and they both tended to stand with their hands in their pockets. The thing Professor Lupin was missing though was Teddy's magnetic vibrancy and unrelentingly cheerful disposition. Dominique could only guess who he'd inherited that from.

"He's a regular Mother Teresa, that one," Mike agreed and Dominique shook her head with a smile. Mike's easy-going, unruffled, refreshingly muggle-born sense of humour had been a welcomed addition both on the pitch and off.

Quidditch was the one thing in Dominique's shaky life that provided a sense of, albeit fictional, stability. Since seeing Samantha James' name on the Hufflepuff bulletin board wedged between Mike McManus and Zacharias Smith's (the snooty blonde kid who turned out to be her dorm-mate Tabitha's younger brother) she'd been flying like a woman possessed - quite possibly to the detriment of all other facets of her life.

When she was in the air, the wind rushing by and raising goose bumps on her skin as the ground blurred beneath her, reality tended to haze away. She could simply fly away and leave it all behind. But when she touched down again the tranquillity slipped away only to be replaced with the ever-present sense that she was lugging around an invisible cement block of responsibility. Quidditch became a respite, something to escape with, and although the Hufflepuff team didn't have anything on her old Gryffindor one, they made interesting, if slightly odd, companions.

Despite being as stereotypically jock-y as it was possible for a Hufflepuff to be, Cadwallader (rarely referred to as Nathan) was the immature heart of the team. He steered his broom like it was a javelin, guffawed loudly and often and happened to be Cedric's best friend. His infectious spirit and talent as a chaser led Dominique to forgive his unfortunate penchant for nicknames, although she still personally blamed him for the team's fresh christening of her as Sammy.

Granted there was the obvious exception of Mike's fellow beater Maxine O'Flaherty, who staunchly barked out a 'James' whenever she was forced to acknowledge her. Dominique was certain that her steely glares had only intensified as time stretched on but Summerby, the ironically clumsy keeper, assured her that it was nothing personal. Dominique had her doubts nevertheless, heightened by Max's peculiar habit of aiming bludgers directly at her with what was arguably an unnecessary amount of force for practise games. There was an underlying fear that playing with Maxine was inviting assassination.

So far, however, the Captain had managed to keep her alive. Against all wisdom in the world Dominique had struck up a reluctant friendship with Cedric Diggory, knowing full well that it was quite possibly the stupidest judgment call she'd ever made. Whilst most of her active brain-cells screamed at her to cease and desist on an hourly basis, part of her was almost certain that she couldn't help it. Something in her instinctually gravitated towards him.

For a while she had trouble believing that anyone could be so genuinely _decent_ and had surreptitiously spent the majority of Quidditch practises nit-picking for hidden character flaws. With the others it was easy; Smith was a snob, Cadwallader a dope. Mike could be overly-relaxed, Summerby was so clumsy it was mystery how he'd made the team in the first place and Max had all the patience of a Hungarian Horntail in heat. Dominique herself was the universe's biggest liar with a rashly developing selfish streak.

But Cedric was just…Cedric. He radiated kindness and honesty and, truth be told, it sometimes annoyed her how ostensibly faultless he appeared to be. People like that just weren't supposed to exist.

Dominique groaned and rolled over. _I'm in way over my head._

A ball of parchment suddenly soared over her couch and hit Mike squarely in the forehead, distracting Dominque from her inner monologue. Cadwallader's voice quickly followed. "Oi, Strikey Mikey! Team meeting!"

"I'm going to kill him if he keeps calling me that," Mike muttered grumpily as he rose, abandoning his half-done homework.

"Easy there, Strikey," Dominique smirked as she followed him to the table Cadwallader was propped up against. She frowned noticing that Cedric, Smith and Summerby were missing. Although Max was still glowering there as persistently as ever."Where're the others?"

Somehow Max's forehead furrowed deeper, causing her to look a bit like an eagle-owl. "Smith had detention or something and Summerby's got prefect duties. Diggory's-"

"Here," Cedric cut in, sliding into the empty seat beside Dominique. She ignored the slight jolt in her stomach as his arm brushed hers.

"So what's up, Captain?" Cadwallader asked, rolling round another scrunched up piece of parchment idly. Dominique vaguely pondered who his next target would be.

"I've just checked with Madame Hooch - Sprout was right, we're replacing Slytherin in the fixture - playing Gryffindor in the first match of the season," Cedric said grimly.

There was an outraged chorus of "whats!?" as the news of their suddenly imminent match settled in. They'd had all of a month to train together - unlike the Gryffindor team which had a solid three years.

"You can't be serious!" Max protested angrily. For once Dominique agreed with her.

So did Cadwallader. "That's bollocks! We haven't had enough time to prepare!"

"We're not scheduled to play for a month! Now we're playing in what – two weeks!" Mike said, doing the math on his fingers in incredulity.

"I know, I'm as annoyed as you are," Cedric agreed. "But Slytherins claiming their seeker is injured and, to be fair, I'd do the same if one of you was hurt!" he said, trying to placate them.

Dominique snorted. The nature of the Malfoy kid's 'injury' had well and truly spread around the castle by that point. "Malfoy isn't hurt! He was barely scratched!"

"By a _Hippogriff_ ," Cedric countered.

Cadwallader shook his head in annoyance. "Sammy's right, if he's got an arm he can play!" Dominique's lips twitched on noticing Mike's mildly alarmed expression upon learning Cadwallader's standards of injury for when a team member should be allowed to sit out, despite the frustration coursing through her.

"Either way there's nothing we can do other than intensify our training. If you're all up for it we'll be training on Wednesdays in addition to our usual Monday and Friday practices," Cedric said, his Captain voice colouring his tone.

There was disheartened mumble of agreement before the team disbanded and Dominique and Mike lumbered back over to the fireplace. "We're going to die," he said.

Dominique fell dejectedly onto the couch. "Stay positive."

Mike remained glum. "We have a Hogsmede trip first. Maybe if we're lucky we'll run into Sirius Black and he'll murder us before the game."

 _That's the spirit._

* * *

"I'm slightly disturbed by how much I'm enjoying this," Dominique admitted as she squeezed the base of a pulsing Bubotuber plant and watched yellow pus ooze into the vial Leanne was holding at its base.

"I'm slightly disturbed by how much you're enjoying this too," Leanne agreed, wrinkling her nose at the green, gasoline smelling pus.

Dominique patted the squirming plant. "If this is wrong then I don't want to be right."

"Would you be able to pass a vial, Sam?" Cho asked from across the table where she and Marietta were wrangling their plant, which seemed to have more of a kick to it.

Dominique made sure to avoid the thrashing bulbs as she handed her a crystal stopper. Her hand paused in the air as she noticed a blotchy bluish-purple patch spread across Cho's forearm, lit by a rare beam of sun breaking through the cloud shadowed greenhouse roof. "Cho, what's on your arm?"

Cho glanced at the mark as she continued to struggle with the plant. Dominique fought a snicker as a wild root flung out and slapped Marietta across the face. "It's just a bruise from training last night," she said distractedly.

"Bludger?"

"Beater's bat," she corrected, wincing at the memory. Dominique grimaced sympathetically as Cho went on. "Inglebee's aim has been a bit off lately. All the pressure from the upcoming game, I guess."

"Evil though it is, that makes me hopeful that Hufflepuff won't be totally smashed when we play," Dominique said wickedly.

"You'll have to beat Slytherin first," Marietta reminded.

Dominique scowled as she helped Leanne repot their squirming plant. "Only because the Slytherin team are a bunch of dirty, cheating, pieces of-"Professor Sprout shuffled past, casting Dominique a stern warning look. "-unsportsmanlike players who disrespect the rest of us rule-abiding, well-mannered participants," she finished quickly.

Leanne eyed the Ravenclaw pair's violently quivering plant warily as Marietta prodded it with disgust. "Careful that thing doesn't explode. I don't want Bubotuber pus all over my robes."

"Does anyone?" Dominique scribbled down her and Leanne's names on their samples as the bell for lunch rang overhead. "Thank Merlin, I'm starving. I heard they're serving chocolate pudding," she said excitedly, hastening to clear her desk.

"James, if you could stay back a moment I'd like to have a word," Professor Sprout's voice rang over the scuttle of the class hurriedly packing up before she ducked into the Herbology storeroom.

 _This doesn't bode well._ Dominique slumped back against her table with a pout as the other three said their goodbyes. "Save me some pudding!" she called out to Leanne's retreating back. A moment later Sprout re-emerged, holding a strongly scented bag of manure that made Dominique want to plug her nose. "If this is about my word choice, Professor, I apologise. Although I do maintain-"

"Grab that pot there by the window, the one with the chip. That's it. Follow me," Sprout directed her out into the weak sunlight spreading over the vegetable patch. Dominique was nonplussed as Sprout stopped beside a sparse patch and dropped the manure, motioning for her to follow suit. "Now, James. I understand that you've had a tough transition to make – new school, new environment. It makes sense that you're struggling," she began, looking up at her with stern but approachable eyes as she filled the pot with manure. "But you and I both know that the school can't allow you to keep going at the rate you are, academically I mean. You're work in Herbology is proficient, but your other teachers have expressed their concerns and as your Head of House it is my duty to sort it out. Do you understand?"

"I do, Professor," Dominique said resignedly. Her marks had finally caught up with her.

"If you could hand me that spade there – yes, thank you." Sprout began digging up a spindly yellow sapling and transferred it to the chipped pot. "One thing that has really helped in the past is tutorship. Asking an older, more experienced student to aid those struggling in the years below them. The staff have agreed, the Headmaster included, that you would benefit from this immensely. Go ahead and sprinkle some of those pellets over it."

Well at least they weren't punishing her per say…although she doubted tutoring would be an exactly thrilling experience. "Who'll be tutoring me?" she asked, scattering some bright orange pellets over the tiny plant.

"Not sure just yet, at the moment we're just giving you notice. You may end up with a number of tutors depending on what subject it's decided you're to be tutored in. That should be enough, there."

Dominique nodded and dropped the pellet bag by Sprout's tools. A sense of shame washed over her as she imagined her parent's reactions to the news that their daughter needed remedial tutoring. Victoire was always top of her class and Louis probably knew more than most of his professors after all the books he'd read – she was experiencing a serious case of middle child syndrome here.

"Chipper up, James. You've got brains in there; you've just got to learn how to use them," Sprout said kindly. "Aguamenti," she flicked her dirt covered wand and the plant seemed to reach up for the source of water, swaying contentedly under the tiny waterfall. "Like seeds, we all have potential. But we need nourishment and encouragement to grow."

"Thank you, Professor," Dominique said, concealing a grin at the corny metaphor.

Sprout smiled and picked her worn gloves off the ground. "Soon enough you'll know the details of your tutoring. Now off to lunch with you!"

All things considered Dominique thought that Sprout's lecture could've gone a lot worse. She wandered back up to the castle alone, casting a glance at the dark clouds brewing ominously above her; a storm was coming. The weather was looking grim for the upcoming Quidditch game. As she made her way to the Great Hall, intent on finally getting some quality pudding, her face scrunched up in irritation as she heard an all too familiar voice call out from across the courtyard. "James! Hey, James, wait up!"

 _McLaggen._

Dominique hurried on, going as fast as possible without breaking into an all-out sprint and pretending she'd been struck temporarily deaf. Ducking through the Clock Tower entrance, she weaved stealthily between corridors as footsteps continued to pursue her. The Mission Impossible theme played in her head as she considered diving out a window on her left.

 _Jeeze, would this guy give it a break? How long do you have to pointedly ignore someone before they get the message to leave you alone?_

"James, would you slow down!"

... _so, forever then._

Rounding a corner, Dominique quickly darted behind a statue of a headless horseman, crouching down and holding her breath as she watched McLaggen stalk past, pause and peer around in confusion. "Bloody minx, that girl," he said to himself and Dominique silently gagged. She didn't straighten up until he disappeared out of sight, winking at a pair of unimpressed Slytherin girls as he went.

Dominique had learnt several important lessons from her interactions with Cormac McLaggen, including but not limited to: 'Katie Bell is an excellent judge of character', 'flirting with boys from the past is a very bad idea,' and 'statues provide fantastic hiding places when secret corridors are unavailable.' She only wished she had the Marauders Map so she could tell when McLaggen was approaching well in advance and make haste to vacate the area. On the subject of the map, she wondered if her uncle had it by now and if he did, had he noticed her predilection for taking cover behind large sculptures?

"I've heard he can be quite obnoxious."

Dominique shrieked and whirled round.

Sitting cross-legged beside the horseman's shiny bronze boot was a very pale girl with round, unblinking eyes and hair so blonde it was white. An upside down Quibbler was propped up against her knees and radishes dangled from her ears. She'd been so still that from her peripheral vision Dominique had assumed she was an extension of the statue. Lysander's mother, clearly eccentric as ever, held her alarmed stare unabashedly. At any rate, if she found Dominique's strangled gasp strange she didn't comment upon it. Dominique struggled to come up with an adequate response. "McLaggen can be rather self-confident," she finally managed.

Luna Lovegood nodded dreamily and stared in a way that made Dominique feel translucent. Evidence was quickly mounting that Luna's social skills had improved exponentially with time because, compared with Mrs Scamander of the future, this was downright awkward. And that was saying something. "You're the girl who was attacked on the train, Samantha James," she pointed out.

"I am," Dominique agreed. "And you're Luna Lovegood."

The blonde smiled serenely. There was another long pause as a group of gaggling Gryffindors passed by and Dominique deliberated if she could just quietly back away when Luna spoke again. "Dementors are part of Cornelius Fudge's private army, did you know?"

 _Here we go._ "I did not know that."

"Yes, daddy wrote an article all about it in the Quibbler. Dementors and gnomes and Heliopaths mostly," she said. "You must've made him very angry to risk exposing it."

"Fudge isn't after me," Dominique promised. She quickly glanced around the statue to make sure the coast was McLaggen-clear before making an exit. "Just an unfortunate accident."

Luna continued to peer at her creepily and Dominique began to count the seconds between her blinks. The average was six. "Well, I'd better go," Dominique said, using the horseman's dismembered bronze head to yank herself up. Luna hummed slightly as she nodded farewell, gaze falling back to the upside down sketch of an ugly Gringotts Goblin gracing the magazine's cover.

It had certainly been an eventful lunch break. By the time she finally made it to the Great Hall the bell for class rang overhead and Dominique's dejected gaze fell to a pile of empty pudding cups decorating the Hufflepuff table. Shaking her fist at the enchanted ceiling, she vowed that it would be the last time McLaggen got between her and chocolate pudding ever again.

* * *

It was only a few days later when Dominique received a note marking that the dreaded hour had arrived and, unfortunately, there were too many witness that could testify to her good health to consider evading her first Occlumency lesson. She dragged herself up to the Headmaster's office with the aura of a man treading the green mile, something that Dumbledore noticed immediately. He quickly assured her that the process would be relatively painless and exponentially beneficial but, sensing that she was unconvinced, decided on an alternative approach.

"On another note I do have some news regarding your time-turner."

Dominique instantly perked up. "Am I going back?"

"Nothing so certain yet," he said, drawing the necklace out from behind his wooden desk and laying it delicately on the table. Dominique instinctively recoiled but continued to stare captivatedly. Dumbledore tapped it with the tip of his wand and a white light began to run alongside the gold spirals encasing the hourglass, illuminating what appeared to be incredibly miniscule carvings. With a wave of his wand the pendant floated in the air between them and twisted round so that the largest inscription was directly facing Dominique.

"Is that a bird?" she asked in awe, noticing the finely detailed feathers outstretched along the base and the long, narrow beak turned skywards.

"A hummingbird, if I am not mistaken. A very particular hummingbird too. This mark, and indeed the smaller detailing along the side, was the signature of A.C. Rimbaud."

"I'm not familiar with him," Dominique admitted, tearing her eyes away from the mystical bird. She had a feeling that this was one of those times that having a decent History of Magic Teacher would've been helpful. _Bloody Binns._

"I would not expect you to be," Dumbledore said, lowering the time-turner back into his draw and closing it securely. Dominique suspected she'd need something a hell of a lot more powerful than a simple Alohomora to break into Albus Dumbledore's desk. "He was a rather obscure figure in terms of magical history. Most accounts show he preferred the company of muggles and was a favourite in the Court of Louis XIV of France, who was naturally oblivious to his subject's knowledge of the magical arts. Nevertheless he was extremely powerful; his legacy lives on primarily through his manuscripts, all concerning the study of magical time-travel."

Dominique's pulse quickened and her grip tightened around the sides of her chair, sensing that they were reaching the crux of the conversation as the Headmaster continued.

"I'm afraid it took me far longer than it should have to consider the possibility of Rimbaud's connection. You see, most wizards who study time are aware of his involvement in the creation of early time-turners, rather weak inventions that only allowed the user to travel back several minutes. However, few are knowledgeable of his grand design – a time-turner that could traverse years, decades, untold amounts of time – in short, an instrument so powerful that it could unravel the very fabric of time itself. Does this sound familiar?"

Dominique gulped and nodded. "So…so _my_ time-turner is…you think he succeeded?"

"I believe so," Dumbledore said. "This hummingbird mark is identical to the one he fashioned his notes around; his Patronus if I am not mistaken. Of course one wonders if Rimbaud did succeed why did he not then publicise his victory? There is the possibility that he realised the destructive power of his invention and endeavoured to destroy it, but then that leads us to question how it ended up with you, Miss James."

"Terribly bad luck?" she guessed and Dumbledore chuckled.

"At any rate, I believe if we continue to uncover Rimbaud's manuscripts – which I'm afraid to say have been rather difficult to source given that no copies outside of the originals were ever made – we could uncover the path to returning you to your time. And now, Miss James, you know everything I do."

Dominique wasn't sure if she felt better or worse. She chewed her lip and considered the revelation. At least now they had a direction to go in, something to hope for - it all rested on whether this Rimbaud guy's notes had survived the test of time. _Why oh why couldn't wizards just embrace the photocopier?_ "So…is this the part where you invade my brain?" she asked warily. She shifted in her chair as Dumbledore's expression became compassionate.

"I assure you that if you concentrate and clear your mind as I have asked you to practise you will be fine." Dominique nodded glumly and prepared herself for what she expected was going to be a killer headache. At least he wasn't insisting on a lobotomy. "Before we begin, however, there is one final matter to attend to. I have here a list of tutors that your Professors have selected for you. I trust that you will endeavour your hardest to use this opportunity to your advantage."

"I will, sir," Dominique promised as she took the list he handed her and scanned the relatively short page, surprised to find that most of her Professors believed her capable of struggling away on her own – that or they couldn't find people willing to tutor her.

 _Charms: Penelope Clearwater. Charms Classroom, 6pm Tuesday._

 _Potions: Ryan Summerby. Potions Dungeon, 4pm Monday._

Dominique smiled as she recognised the name, noticing that her Keeper had scrawled in his own messy handwriting next to the note 'before training.' She recognised the next name too, with a jolt, although perhaps for slightly more disconcerting reasons.

 _Transfiguration: Oliver Wood. Transfiguration Classroom, 8pm Thursday._

Why did he want to meet so late? Was it unreasonable to be concerned that the Gryffindor Captain might use this opportunity to rub out an enemy player? If rumours of Wood's obsession were anything to go by she didn't think so. Dumbledore's gentle voice broke her from her ruminations. "If you are willing, Miss James, we shall begin our lesson. Are you prepared?"

 _No._

She studied his wand, held not threateningly but at the ready nonetheless. Dominique attempted to clear her mind, an unsurprisingly complicated process for all its vague meaning and made especially difficult by her newfound fear that Oliver Wood might try to murder her. She inhaled deeply, letting fresh air stir her lungs, and closed her eyes.

"Yes."

* * *

Dominique was coming to realise that punctuality wasn't her forte.

Thick rain pursued her as she sprinted across the Transfiguration Courtyard, soaking her as the sporadic droplets rapped against her skin. She shivered and pulled her robes tighter around her neck on skidding into the cold classroom, spotting a lone figure with his back to her by McGonagall's desk. Dominique could just make out a crop of dark auburn hair and well-built, Quidditch hardened shoulders in the gloom. Shrouded in darkness, his body hunched in annoyance. He wasn't an inviting sight and Dominique somehow doubted that this tutoring session would go as smoothly as the ones she'd had with Summerby, who turned out to be far more proficient in potions than keeping, and Penelope Clearwater, who was a spell-crafter in the making.

She took a hesitant step forward and cringed as her wet shoes clapped off the stone floor, sending an echo reverberating through the silent space. The hunched figure turned. The first thing Dominique noticed about Oliver Wood was the stony glint of his dark eyes, glaringly evident across the room. The second was the brusque quality of his accent. "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"Sorry, there was a-"

"I don't care why you're late. Just prevent it from becoming a regular thing."

She raised an eyebrow and tucked a dripping piece of hair behind her ear as Wood slowly approached. His rigid movement indicated that he'd prefer to do just the opposite. There was a glossy textbook clutched in his hand and Dominique frowned at the cover. "McGonagall showed me your recent work." _Oh joy._ She stayed silent, not wanting to get snapped at again. Instead she leant gingerly against an empty desk, the timber hard against her skin. Rain continued to fall outside, rapping against the windows like a low drum beat. "First we need to revise Third Year work," he decided, flipping open the textbook.

"I'm a Fourth Year," Dominique interrupted, her expression puzzled. She reached towards her satchel to grab her notes. _Did Wood not know what he was getting himself into here?_

He didn't look up. "At a Third Year level," he countered simply, retrieving his wand from his robes. "And that's a generous assessment."

Dominique's hand froze in her bag and her eyes narrowed. _Okay so apparently he did know what he was getting himself into. And he wasn't planning on being polite about it._ "Fine," she said stiffly.

"Fine," he repeated. They glared at each other for a few seconds, each of them sizing the other up. Dominique quickly learnt that Wood was just as stubborn as she predicted him to be in that moment.

The following hour was spent performing various spells at his request as he watched her, relentlessly critiquing, changing her stance and correcting her wand movements all the while. As he circled for what must've been the hundredth time she felt a bit like a show-pony on display at a circus. _At least ponies get applause_ , she thought bitterly as her tutor commanded her to adjust her wrist.

Overall, Dominique found herself mildly enthralled by the enigma that was Oliver Wood; he did very little to hide his disdain for the situation, yet bizarrely had volunteered to tutor her. She silently wondered if the Gryffindor Captain was always this ill-tempered or if it was a side he'd decided to reserve especially for her. Earlier that week when Dominique had confided her assassination based worries to Katie, her friend had laughed and assured her that Wood, despite some slight manic tendencies, was a 'lovely bloke.' Standing across from him now, his burly arms folded across his chest and his lips drawn in a thin line, she wasn't convinced. Maybe he really had brought her here to kill her. She gulped and kept one eye trained on his wand hand for the remainder of the lesson.

Nevertheless, Dominique made it to nine o'clock un-maimed and let out a sigh of relief when Wood called it quits for the night. He rapidly gathered his belongings and waited impatiently for Dominique to pack hers. She intentionally slowed down and bit back a smirk when he began to tap his foot tetchily.

"All of a sudden it makes sense why you're late to everything," he grumbled.

Dominique peered up at his sarcastic tone and curiosity got the better of her. "Why did you volunteer to tutor me? You're clearly not enjoying a moment of this."

Wood's expression flickered for a fraction of a second before it smoothed into an irritated mask. "I didn't."

A line formed on Dominique's forehead as her brows furrowed. That hadn't been the response she'd expected. "Then how come-?"

"You think McGonagall gave me a choice?" Wood's expression was bitter and his arms had returned to their position crossed over his chest. "Now would you hurry up?"

Dominique supposed that she'd be pissed too if she were forced into Hogwarts managed slave labour but it didn't stop the rush of insult that coloured her tone at his slight. "Right," she said, snatching her bag forcefully and revelling in the raucous noise her shoes made as she stalked out of the classroom into the pouring rain. She'd certainly be having a word with Katie in the near future about what constituted the term 'lovely.'

Oliver Wood was quite possibly the world's biggest wanker.


	6. The Freaks Come Out at Night

**The Freaks Come Out at Night**

"Would you rather shag a zombie or a demon clown?"

"Is death an option?"

"Depends which one you pick."

Autumn wind rustled the fallen leaves around Dominique's boots. The road to Hogsmeade was littered in a crisp carpet of oranges, browns and burgundies that crackled like flint as the three girls passed over it. Katie pursed her lips and considered her options. "Is the clown wearing face paint or a mask?"

"Mask," Dominique supplied. She squinted and shielded her eyes as golden sunlight glinted off an enormous silver-silked cobweb adorning a nearby tree. The gloomy weather had relented to celebrate the day. Jack-o-lanterns had been heaped in pyramids earlier up the dirt path as a promise of the decorations waiting in Hogsmede itself.

"Well then the clown obviously," Katie decided.

Leanne cast the pair a quizzical look as Dominique hopped over a muddy puddle. "Your game is grosser than usual today."

"Hey we're just keeping with the season," Dominique defended. "Besides, you never know when you're going to be faced with a choice between Frankenstein and Pennyw-"

Her mouth flopped open as they stepped through the ancient threshold onto Hogsmeade's cobbled street. Colourful stalls were erected on either side selling curious and suspicious looking wares. Rows of scarecrows loomed above them, their eerie straw heads following Dominique as she wandered between the themed pop-up tents in awe. The thatched roofs of the permanent stores were threaded with more glistening cobwebs and their windows were decked in orange streamers and traditional wizarding costumes. The scent of pumpkin and chocolate lingered on the breeze that played with cloak trims of the crowds flocking the street before her.

 _Nineties Halloween was bitchin'._

"It's really something, isn't it?" Leanne asked, taking in Dominique's stunned expression. She nodded numbly.

"The festival happens every year," Katie said. She squealed excitedly and pulled them towards a popular cotton candy stall. "I wasn't sure they were going to have one this time with the whole Sirius Black thing but it looks like we lucked out."

Her mouth full of the tangy taste of lemonade candy floss, Dominique trailed after Leanne and Katie as they weaved through the streets. Her eyes roamed hungrily over the bustling town, assailed with stark changes to her memory and the sensation that she'd truly never visited Hogsmeade before. The legendary Zonko's Joke Shop stood where her Uncle's Hogsmede Branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezers eventually would. Much to her horror Madam Puddifoot hadn't yet retired and, grimacing at the offensively pink interior through the open door, she swore the scent of potpourri stuck to her for the rest of the day. Dominique was as much a stranger here as she was anywhere else.

The shop contents were different too. Dominique thought she was making great progress in embracing nineties fashion – despite the over-exuberance of neon – but as she wandered through the brightly lit aisles of Gladrags Wizardwear she was overwhelmed with velvet and plaid. When they ran into Cho and Marietta inside, the latter purchasing the ugliest geometric scarf in human history, Dominique snuck away and discovered a gorgeous ruby red winter coat to add to her steadily building wardrobe. Dumbledore might've been the greatest wizard to ever live but his fashion sense was questionable at best.

Cho and Marietta tagged along for the journey to Honeydukes which, given the time of year, was absolutely packed. Squashed against a barrel of ice mice, Dominique grinned disbelievingly as she saw Mike and his friends Andrew Stebbins, who had together amassed the biggest pile of candy she'd ever seen, cradle it towards the counter. Leanne dared her to eat a suspiciously khaki coloured Bertie Bott's bean which she instantly regretted as the taste of Brussel sprouts beset her tongue. On the way out Dominique bought a new sugar quill and stringently avoided the Cauldron Cakes counter, having grown a recent aversion to them.

In Tomes and Scrolls she roamed the aisles inattentively until stumbling upon the extremely limited 'time' section, which only housed a series of young-adult novels about a wizard who travelled into the future. It might've gotten the direction wrong but it was familiar enough to be unnerving and Dominique shuffled outside to wait for the others to pay. Mid-afternoon, Katie and Leanne headed for the Shrieking Shack where a Seer was supposedly offering palm readings. Sensing the danger, Dominique chose to wander the streets on her own, intent on grabbing a Butterbeer before checking out Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"You're sure?" Katie asked. Leanne too looked uncertain about leaving Dominique. They'd been enthusiastic to show her 'Britain's Most Haunted Building' and, perhaps more grimly, were anxious about the alleged serial killer lurking around.

Dominique waved them off blithely. "I've seen enough creepy buildings in my time to imagine it just fine." _Not to mention I've had a few misadventures in_ that _house already._ They hesitantly parted and, listening to the indistinguishable chatter of people bustling past, Dominique fell back into her game of spot the difference: Hogsmeade edition.

She came to a standstill at the heart of town. In the dead centre of the main square an imposing oak tree towered above her, its roots spreading like wooden veins through the streets. She pressed her palm against the smooth bark and trailed her fingers along the trunk. She could practically feel it breathing under her touch. Dominique had never seen it before, realising that it was yet another casualty of time.

The tree's base met earth in the spot where the Hogsmeade Memorial Fountain would stand, erected in honour of the victims of the Battle of Hogwarts. Fifty names would be etched into its marble base, fading to blurs as decades of water rushed over them. Something that spread so much life would be torn down to make way for something cold and distant. Unmoving.

Life replaced with the memory of life.

Dominique frowned as the back of her neck suddenly began to tingle and her arm hairs bristled under her jacket. She stiffened and dropped her hand from the tree to her side. Her throat constricted and she swallowed deeply. _I'm being watched._ Dominique's pupils ghosted to the corner of her eyes. Her tense shoulders slowly followed, turning her directly onto the main street. No faces darted out from the hastening crowd and no shadows shifted in the alleys. She fiddled with her shaking hands and her eyes roamed over the lane again. Dominique's forehead creased and she bit her lip.

 _Merlin, I'm becoming Mad Eye Moody. Paranoid, much?_

She exhaled a breath she wasn't aware of holding and watched it curl in the crisp air. Dominique stuffed her hands into her jean pockets and grimaced at her own jumpiness. Mid-turn, a rustle of movement caught her attention and her eyes snapped towards it. The half-closed flap of a nearby tent shuddered, twisting slightly as the wind rushed by. The tent was shrouded in unnatural shadow, as though a cement cloud haunted it and its red-stripped fabric was patchy and faded.

A sign reading 'MAESTRI'S MASKS' hung limply from a nailed post beside it, fixed with a scribbled message underneath: 'Off for a bite, back in five.'

Dominique's gaze travelled back to the fissured entrance and she titled her head to better peer inside. Dozens of intricately designed masks lined the walls. The interior's dim light struck them peculiarly so that their features were twisted and distorted. One mask stood out, hovering freakishly in the centre. Its warped grin seemed to simper at her and Dominique found herself staring, mesmerized, into the pitch black slits that were the clown's eyes.

She hoped that her earlier prophecy wasn't about to be realised.

As though controlled by a marionette Dominique slunk forward, captured in the clown's gaze as it pulled her in like twin black holes. As she ducked under the tent flap it swung completely shut, sewn tightly closed, and Dominique was cast in night. The mask loomed down at her like a warped moon. She wasn't sure what possessed her trembling hand to reach out towards it but her fingertips almost grazed its skin. Dominique's blood pounded in her ears and all that was left was her and the clown's stretching lips.

Suddenly it lurched forward with a snarl that burst through the tent and a shriek ripped through Dominique's throat. She launched backwards like her nerves were set aflame and tore back the tent flap so that light flooded the cramped space.

Somebody was keeled over, clutching their sides as hearty laughter shook their body. Their chuckles were muffled against the rubber mask until they pulled it off and dropped it against the counter unceremoniously. Dominique's jaw dropped in disbelief but she quickly snapped it back shut. There were tears welling in his eyes as she fumed back over and smacked his shoulder violently. He laughed through his pained groan.

"Ced! Are you serious?"

His attempts at a response quickly dissolved into another fit of laughter and Dominique slapped him again. That perfectly proportioned face of his wouldn't remain that way if he kept it up. Cedric peered up at her imploringly, as though unable to fight his laughter and Dominique wrestled with the smile tugging at her own lips. "I – I'm sorry, Sam!" he finally managed, his voice quivering. "But you should've seen your face!"

Dominique quickly readjusted her icy glare and placed her hands on her hips. "I nearly socked you!"

Cedric huffed in false hurt and slowly straightened himself but his eyes retained their impish glimmer. His shoulders were still shaking faintly. "Would you really hit me?"

Dominique gave him a forceful shove. "Yes!" She spun round and stormed dramatically back onto the lane, suppressing a pleased smile when Cedric raced after her. The stall owner slipped back inside and nodded politely at the pair whilst Dominique watched two little witches dressed as fairies giggle and skip in after their frazzled mother.

"Are you really mad at me?"

"Yes."

Dominique's shoulder erupted into tingles at an unexpectedly soft pressure. Her head snapped up and her gaze bounded from Cedric's hand to his earnest expression. "Well then I'm very sorry. I promise not to frighten you again."

She recovered herself and surveyed him skeptically. "Sure you do," she said. "We'll see how long that lasts."

Cedric's repentant mask slipped. He bit back a guilty smile and smoothed his face. "You nearly jumped out of your skin."

Dominique rolled her eyes and started on the path towards the Shrieking Shack. Streetlights were flickering to life around them and dusk was rapidly settling in but she'd promised to grab Leanne and Katie before heading back up to the castle. "That does tend to happen when somebody thinks they're about to be strangled by a killer clown."

Cedric scoffed amusedly. She blamed her recent scare on the electric jolt that shot through her when their hands grazed. "Killer clown? You know I didn't expect you to actually approach. You see something you think might hurt you and you wander towards it?"

Dominique quietly thought that was the metaphor of her life. "That pretty much sums it up…hang on – what were you even doing there?" Her eyebrows drew together and she glanced askance at him.

Cedric was unperturbed. "The owner asked me to keep an eye on it while he was gone. I saw you staring and decided to-"

"Give me a heart-attack?"

"That pretty much sums it up" Cedric mimicked with a grin. "Why are you alone, anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Dominique pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"I wanted to check into Quality Quidditch Supplies but the others are a bit over it." Cedric rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Apparently they're a little sick of my…er…interest in the next game."

Dominique laughed and finally noticed to bulging sack, the QQS store logo inked into it, bobbing along the stone road. Judging by size alone, that might've been an understatement. Personally, she was immensely grateful for the small break they'd gotten before the following weekend's game. Her limbs were so fatigued that she'd had trouble getting out of bed the past few mornings and more than once Leanne had needed to physically drag her out.

Obsession wise however, the Hufflepuff Captain had nothing on the Gryffindor one. Oliver Wood had revealed himself to be a Quidditch dictator and Katie had all the hallmarks of someone living under a tyrannical regime. Today was proof enough; she'd spent a considerable portion of it checking over her shoulder and jumping as though Wood would suddenly burst out from a bush like a deranged jack-in-the-box and accuse her of fraternising with enemy players.

Tutoring was going as smoothly as ever, though. Like a boat on calm water – except the boat was sinking, the waters were a maelstrom and the deck was on fire. Dominique had become accustom to Wood's insensitive jabs and had learnt to return them with a few snarky comments of her own. They mostly revolved around scowling himself into an early grave.

The strange thing was that when Dominique spotted him in the castles, fanaticism aside, Wood seemed like a perfectly normal bloke. The complete opposite of the burgeoning despot she knew. Katie herself had admitted to a ranting Dominique that Wood's behaviour was uncharacteristic and he was always crabbier in the training sessions immediately following tutoring. _Temperamental_ _Git_.

"So what were _you_ doing alone?"

Cedric's question brought her whirling back to the present. Dominique blinked and tried to recall what they'd been talking about. _Why had she been alone?_ "Oh, the girls wanted to see the Seer by the Shrieking Shack but I wasn't feeling it."

"Is that where we're headed?" The houses bordering Hogsmede's winding streets began fade to vegetation. Forest flanked her and Cedric on either side and forced them closer together on the narrowing path. Dominique mentally thanked Mother Nature and nodded. "I think that's where Nate and the others went," Cedric said.

"How convenient. Now it doesn't seem like you're stalking me," Dominique teased.

Cedric grinned and shifted his bags as the road faded to dirt beneath their tread. "You got me." He offered her a hand to scamper over a moss-covered stone blocking the path and Dominique mentally cringed as her sweaty palm met his, sure that he found _that_ attractive. She frowned at herself.

 _Wait – why do I care if he cares about my hand sweat. I mean it's not like he cares that I care that he cares, because I don't care. Right?_ _I mean even if I did care that he cared it would mean that I_ cared _cared, as in like -_

"So you don't believe in Seers? Don't you take Divination?"

Cedric's voice breaking the quiet of the murky woods startled Dominique and she hoped he didn't notice her slip on a bunch of wet leaves before grabbing a tree branch for support. "I'm in it for the irony," she murmured, stealthily wiping her hand on her jeans, her mind still distracted.

"The what?"

"Hilarity," she quickly covered. "The hilarity of it all. I believe in Seers I'm just not sure I like them."

"Why not?" Cedric asked curiously. The low hum of voices stirring from the clearing of the Shrieking Shack grew louder as they approached. They almost drowned out Dominique's muttered response.

"They know too much."

Like the streets of Hogsmeade, the glade was busier than Dominique had ever seen it. The majority of the queue lining to enter the house-sized tent were fellow Hogwarts students. Strange symbols dangled from its covering, jingling lightly when the wind rustled them. A faint whiff of firewhisky lingered around the tent and Dominique was reminded of Trelawney's cooking sherry habit. She pondered if getting smashed was integral to the workings of the 'inner eye.'

The Shrieking Shack behind it was predictably timeless. The decayed structure was far too dilapidated to have been ravaged by time as the rest of Hogsmeade was. As Dominique reminisced about the time James accidentally let a boggart loose in the shack (traumatising a few classmates in the process) Cedric spotted Cadwallader leaning against a post chatting with Kenneth Towler, a Gryffindor in their year, and Isaac Brody, an unprecedentedly friendly Slytherin.

Cadwallader beamed proudly as they approached. "The Seer said my wife's going to be super fit."

The comment that hung in Dominique's mouth was better expressed by Max as she stalked in the opposite direction. "And blind apparently."

"Aw, Max, I didn't know you had vision problems!" Cadwallader hollered after her. Max didn't even bother turning as she flipped him off and Dominique reluctantly felt her respect growing for the consistently touchy beater. Maxine O'Flaherty could cut a fool like no other.

"Any other prophecies?" Cedric inquired.

"Slytherin would've steamrolled you in the upcoming game," Brody offered, coupling the gesture with a lofty smirk. Cadwallader, Dominique and Cedric simultaneously erupted into a chorus of protest and Brody chuckled. He brought a bottle of Butterbeer he'd been toying with to his lips and sipped amusedly.

"Careful, mate, you're slightly outnumbered here," Towler warned. "Don't want to get hexed."

"They wouldn't do that, they're Hufflepuffs." He was quite confident of the fact and Dominique smirked. If he had used that line around her cousin Roxanne he'd be pummelled.

Cadwallader shrugged. "We won't," he gestured lazily between Cedric and himself, "but I don't know about Sammy. She's wild."

Dominique scoffed. "Yeah totally, I'm off the rails."

Katie materialised at Dominique's side and shifted dubiously. "You do tend to attract trouble more than any person I know," she mused. "Well except maybe Potter…"

"I'm a victim of circumstance!" Dominique said dismissively and stuck her nose in the air. It was a gesture she'd learnt from her mother, although she couldn't pull it off with the French finesse that Fleur had perfected.

Cedric's laugh was disbelieving. "You threatened to punch me not half an hour ago!" he contested.

"Taken out of context!"

"Oh so _that's_ what was going on in that tent?" Towler said and Dominique's head creaked his way.

"Tent, huh?" Cadwallader pressed wickedly. His eyes flashed between her and Cedric mischievously and she felt heat rise to her cheeks at the insinuation. Katie's ears perked up from her peripheral vision and Dominique mentally groaned at the interrogation the boys had cluelessly arranged. _Men are so tactless_.

"Word choice," Cedric chuckled. Dominique was quietly thankful that he wasn't overtly revolted by the implication; although she wasn't chuffed to hear his no doubt imminent explanation of events. The last thing she wanted was to be the butt of more clown assaults.

"Not, like – I mean, well, you know?" Towler stumbled over his explanation. "You hear a scream coming from a creepy looking tent, you tend to pause. As soon as I saw the two of you coming out, neither covered in blood, I went on my jolly way."

"Kind of you. Well we've got to head off so I'll leave you to regale everyone with a recount of your lurking," Dominique said directly to Cedric. She could've sworn he winked at her. Attempting to smother the trip in her breathing pattern, she hurriedly turned to Katie. "Where's Leanne?"

"She popped into the Three Broomsticks earlier with Mike," Katie answered.

Brody decided to head off too, granted that Dominique promised not to attack him. Katie instantaneously soured and as they clambered back along the forest path Dominique briefly caught up with her ahead. "What's up with you?"

Katie shot a conspicuous glower over her shoulder. "What? He's a _Slytherin_ ," she hissed in a hushed voice. Her glare was suddenly lit by lamps as they reached the street.

"And all Gryffindors are angels?" Dominique retorted just as quietly. She had multiple tutorial hours' worth of proof to dispel _that_ theory.

The sun had nearly set and hordes of bats squawked across the violet sky, their wings like spindly black arrows. Brody caught up with them and attempted a conversation with Katie who gave forced, one-syllable answers. Dominique was reminded of Wood's cheery demeanour and rolled her eyes. _Merlin, Gryffindors could be stubborn._

Passing by the window to Madame Puddifoot's, Dominique saw Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater snuggled up in a corner booth, surrounded by enough lace to be considered a fire hazard. As she watched Percy blush almost as red as his hair a reflection caught her eye and she swivelled round. Dominique's eyes rushed towards the alley where the massive black dog had sat, finding it empty. The phantom hound had disappeared, or more likely, hadn't existed at all. She deflated slightly.

"Sam?" Katie was waiting irritably besides Brody.

"I thought I just – never mind." Dominique shook her head and continued towards the castle, a Gryffindor on one side and a Slytherin on the other. It sounded like the start of a bad joke. Spotting some mates loitering shadily by the side door to the Hog's Head, Brody hastily parted and Dominique tensed, waiting for Katie to pounce. She rounded on her immediately.

"So are we going to talk about what you were doing in a tent with Cedric Diggory or not?"

* * *

Dominique was chasing a car-sized hummingbird.

She wasn't sure if she'd been at it for seconds or centuries but her limbs were tiring and the void stretched on endlessly. White hot fire raced through her legs and they burned listlessly as she slowed to a halt. The sound of her panting breaths filled the silence and the monstrous bird paused, waiting just outside of her reach as though taunting her. It titled its curious head from side to side and the pair surveyed each other.

 _Somebody needs to lay off the bird seed…_

Cool water rushed backwards over Dominique's bare feet and she stretched her toes. She frowned downwards. How long had she been running up this stream? Hell, why was she chasing this bloody big bird in the first place? As though in response the hummingbird rose and vibrated slightly. Dominique instinctively shrunk away as it morphed mid-air, separating the way water droplets trickle to smaller beads. Or in this case three smaller, standard sized hummingbirds.

They raced towards Dominique and flittered around her body; a ripple of bell-like laughter escaped her lips as they formed a minuscule feathered cyclone. Tiny wings beat so fast they blurred and three inquisitive heads followed her movement. Smiling, Dominique reached out towards the closest but it darted away. Her feet glided forwards in the water and the brittle birds seemed to wait for her, leading her deeper into the nothingness.

Eventually an indistinguishable shape hazed in the distance and Dominique's pulse cantered to a steady rhythm, like the tick of a clock. It amplified on approach.

As the marble structure swam into view Dominique realised it was a fountain – the Hogsmeade Memorial Fountain to be exact. The stream beneath her was surging forwards, up and over the marble basin as though the fountain was drinking it, sucking in deep swallows.

Dominique paused and her gaze travelled to the cylindrical column which should have listed the victims of the Battle of Hogwarts...but the strange marble remained unspoiled. No names tarnished the smooth surface and Dominique eventually realised that it was something else altogether. The shape was grander, flourished like the curve of flower petals. The marble was whiter, less blemished. This fountain was an artistic design rather than a stoic memorial.

Drawing ever closer, the beating of Dominique's pulse reached a crescendo in the void and the hummingbirds sped away. Dominique cried out as they hurtled towards the fountain. They circled it in a rush before settling atop the first level, peering at her inquisitively. Suddenly, their spindly legs petrified and the smooth stone travelled up their bodies, freezing them in place as statues.

Trapped for an eternity.

* * *

She shot forward on the bed, her panicked gaze darting around the room as somebody shook her roughly. Leanne's frightened face swam into view. "Sam, come on, we've got to go!" she urged, tugging at Dominique's shoulders.

Dominique registered Tabitha and Anna behind her hurriedly shrugging into dressing gowns. "What's happening?" she croaked, mind still mid-dream.

"It's Sirius Black, he's somewhere in the castle!" Leanne whispered, her voice panicked. Dominique was half tempted to fall back onto her mattress and tell Leanne to bugger off. Her expression must've betrayed it because Leanne gripped her arm all the more tightly. "Sam, did you not hear me? I just said Black's in the castle!"

"Oh…no. That's…wow…that's not good." Dominique yawned heavily, her jaw stretching wide like a lion's. "That's…bad…that's…what are we doing again?"

Leanne tossed her a thick sweater and Dominique drowsily pulled it over her head. As she slipped into her ugg boots her attention was somewhere else altogether. That had been a bizarre dream; hummingbirds and fountains and weird-ass rivers. Dominique blamed it on a combination of overeating at the Halloween Feast and Dumbledore for messing around with her brain. Occlumency was not good for one's sanity. No wonder so many great wizards were mad.

A moment later Leanne grabbed Dominique by the forearm and half steered her down to the Common Room. "Merlin, Sam, you sleep like the dead," she muttered. Students were packed into the space like Bertie Bott's Beans, practically quaking with nervous energy as the entirety of Hufflepuff waited with bated breath for updates on whether or not they'd survive the night.

Professor Sprout bustled into the room, looking very peculiar without her signature patchy garden hat perched atop her dishevelled hair. "I want everyone organised into two lines, quickly now! We're headed to the Great Hall, convening with the other houses. I want everyone on the lookout! Keep your wits about you! Prefects I want you dispersed among the lines!" she shouted over the students who quickly shuffled themselves into parallel rows.

Dominique was bustled between a group of Seventh Years and thrown out of their anxious huddle in disorientation. She blinked around before spotting a familiar figure organising some frightened First Years into line. Dominique suppressed a grin at his ruffled bed hair and self-consciously flattened her own before sidling up. "Hey Prefect, what exactly is happening?" she whispered.

Cedric's expression was tense as he gently pulled her into line. "It's Black. He tried to get into one of the Common Rooms. That's why they're taking us all out."

"Ah, Gryffindor," Dominique remembered aloud. She'd heard Uncle Ron tell the story a billion times – Black was only after the bloody rat. Although, truth be told, he did get a little knife happy on the Fat Lady.

"Where'd you hear that?" Cedric questioned.

"Isn't it always the Gryffindors?" Dominique covered quickly. Now that she had an outsider's perspective on her own house she could finally appreciate its reputation for recklessness.

"I suppose it is. Anyway we'll find out when…" he trailed off and Dominique followed his gaze to her pyjama pants. He seemed to be fighting a smirk as he took in the green and blue dinosaurs dotting the fabric. Just wait till he saw the bone.

"What?" Dominique questioned, twisting her leg in a faux model gesture. "You got something against my jammies?"

"No, they're very different," he reassured amusedly.

Dominique had ordered them from a Madam Malkim's catalogue on first arriving in the past along with a few other pieces. "I wanted the matching top – it has a t-rex on it – but they were out of stock," Dominique pouted and Cedric shook his head. "Don't you judge me, Diggory. You should think about infusing some fun into your own pyjamas," she said, eyeing his rather boring plaid pants pointedly.

"I'll get right on it," he promised as they climbed through the barrel exit.

Quiet descended upon the lines as they left the safety of the Hufflepuff basement. The sound of hushed voices and footfall echoed throughout the cold, dimly lit corridors and nervous students craned their neck for any signs of danger. Dominique disguised a laugh as a cough at the thought of Black bursting out from behind a tapestry, brandishing a wand in one hand and a knife in the other. She was vaguely aware of Cedric's eyes on her but kept her gaze trained forward.

"You're not worried," he pointed out.

Dominique shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Ced. Halloween brings out the crazies."

"Sam, you did hear that the crazy in question is the homicidal kind, right?"

Dominique's fingers trailed to the hem of her sweater and she began to fidget with it. "You know he wasn't given a trial? He wasn't questioned under Veritaserum or anything. They just threw him in Azkaban." In her time the whole Sirius Black debacle was a big deal; it came to symbolise the failure of the old Ministry and the progress of the new one.

"You think he's innocent?" Cedric asked, his expression incredulous. Dominique had a slight suspicion that she'd said too much.

She shook her head noncommittally. "Not necessarily – but he was never _proven_ guilty. Anyway, who's scared now," she teased, changing the subject. They passed under the enormous frame of the Great Hall doors where the three other houses had already converged.

Cedric appraised her with a mix of humour and scorn. "Me, I can admit that. But you – I don't get you. A clown mask has you shrieking like a banshee but a mass murderer on the loose is a minor inconvenience. Samantha James you are one weird girl."

"I bet you say that to all the broads," Dominique purred, batting her eyelashes sarcastically. "And I did _not_ shriek like a banshee."

"You did so," he maintained.

"Did not!"

"Did so!

"Did not times infinity!" Dominique scampered away before he could retort, spying the jittery trio of Katie, Angelina and Alicia in the centre of the hall.

Katie's face broke in relief as she neared. "Sam! Thank Merlin you're here, the Hufflepuffs were the last to come up, we were worried! Where's Leanne?"

"I think she's with Mike or something. Are you lot alright?" she asked, glancing between the three of them.

"Nobody was hurt, just traumatized," Angelina said.

Alicia nodded. "Yeah, he didn't get in. Not sure why he was trying to anyway."

"We can only guess," Dominique murmured dryly as her attention travelled over to the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione were bunched, whispering together. _How inconspicuous…_

"Er, James…why is Wood glaring at you?" Angelina asked.

Dominique twisted around and followed her gaze to where Oliver Wood stood, arms crossed over his chest, visibly glowering their way. She quirked a challenging brow at his antagonistic glare and began to wave at him animatedly. Wood's eyes narrowed and Katie snatched her hand away. " _What?_ " Dominique asked innocently. "He started it."

"And he'll finish it by taking his frustrations out during training," Katie hissed.

"It's not my fault your Captain's a prat," Dominique protested bitterly.

"He's not a prat really, Sam. He's actually quite lovely, he just doesn't' like you."

"Gee Katie, thanks. That makes me feel loads better."

A voice suddenly sounded on Dominique's right and she jumped. "Wood does tend to get that way-"

A second voice joined the first on her left. "When he catches his chasers chatting-"

"With players from the rival team-"

"On the veritable eve of the big match."

Fred and George Weasley approached from either side of her with mirrored Cheshire grins. Dominique smiled weakly, still not used to the double act. She wasn't sure she ever would be. "Looks like we've got the whole team here," George observed.

"Quick, someone grab Harry and we'll give Wood a proper fright!"

"Fred!"

"Only joking."

Dominique made a quick excuse to escape and hurried over to Leanne, who'd commandeered a few sleeping bags besides Mike and Stebbins. Halfway there, a giggle cut across the room and her gaze roamed over to the far corner where Cho was leaning against a wall, talking with Cedric. She twirled a piece of glossy black hair around her finger and Dominique's nose twitched in irritation.

 _That's the oldest trick in the book. Could she be anymore unoriginal?_

Frowning at the sudden rush of annoyance, Dominique wondered where _that_ had come from? Slowing to a halt and sighing, she stared at the swirling nebula reflected in the enchanted ceiling overhead. The kaleidoscopic solar system was a good reminder of just how petty she was being, especially given the fact that she had far bigger concerns to worry about. She wasn't sure if it was a comforting or depressing thought. Maybe it was both.

Just then, a familiar voice groaned deeply behind her. "Do you plan on blocking the way for the rest of the night or just until the lights go out?"

"Good to see you weren't brutally murdered too, Wood," Dominique couldn't help but smirk. Taking a leaf out of Max's playbook she didn't look back as she sauntered towards her reserved sleeping bag but his atypically amused voice carried after her anyway.

"Nice bone!"

Dominique cringed and a hand automatically flew up to cover her arse as she waddled away. At least from this position Wood couldn't see her scarlet face.

* * *

 **AN: Happy early Halloween everyone! Remember kids, don't eat suspicious looking candy. It's probably shit quality anyway.**


	7. Knock on Wood

**Knock on Wood**

A howling gust of wind was what forced Dominique to face her reflection for the first time on Saturday morning. It was with a crash that the gale knocked open a locker in the Quidditch change rooms, the mirror shuddering to a halt directly in front of her.

Dominique focused on the deafening beat of rain thundering against the walls and the chill raising goose bumps along her skin to ignore the way the canary yellow robes sallowed her face. She wrung her damp chasers gloves in her hands as she paced the otherwise empty room, leaving a dripping trail as she went. The game wouldn't start for another half hour or so but it was either this or anxiously staring at the ceiling of her four-poster bed whist Leanne's snores filled the dormitory.

A rumble of thunder sounded directly overhead and Dominique warily lifted the flap to the pitch outside, a shiver running through her as cold wind blasted past. Rain was pouring in icy sheets and even the formidable goalposts looked like brittle, snap-able twigs trying to resist the violent gale. They wouldn't be able to see a bloody thing.

The disastrous conditions did little to placate Dominique's steadily growing fear that she'd singlehandedly sabotage the game, her dread mostly involving tossing the quaffle to the wrong team, her instincts screaming red over yellow. She clenched her eyes shut and let the flap fall behind her. The hammering storm dimmed only slightly. Theoretically, playing Quidditch wasn't a good idea. Now that she was waiting in the wings, about to experience it in practise, it seemed an even worse one. Maybe Dumbledore had been right…

"Have you eaten?"

Dominique spun around, not having heard Max enter. The Beater was soaking wet, her curls plastered to her head, looking like she'd just swum rather than walked from the castle to the pitch. Dominique's hollow stomach squirmed and she shook her head. She hadn't wanted to risk whatever she ate coming back up. Her reflexes were barely fast enough to catch the rounded object hurtled at her head and she tried not to look too suspicious as she turned the gleaming green apple over in her hands. "Er, thanks."

Max nodded once and turned to rummage through her locker for a broom servicing kit. When she looked away Dominique took a cautious sniff of the fruit. It didn't _smell_ poisoned.

The storm filled the silence as she ate and Dominique perched herself on a wooden bench on the opposite side of the room. Tossing the apple core into a bin, she let her head drop between her knees and burrowed the palms of her hands into her eyes in an attempt to sort out her jumbled thoughts. She couldn't quite remember the outcome of this particular game but she knew that her uncle Harry hardly ever lost. Dominique personally was torn between allowing the future to take its course and pummelling Gryffindor into the ground. After all, what was the point of playing if she couldn't win?

She groaned and heaved herself up to study the chalk formations etched on the board from their last training session. Quidditch was easier when she didn't have the stability of the space-time continuum to factor in. As she memorised their modified Hawkshead attacking formation the rest of the team filed in and she sensed a second presence by the board. Dominique glanced at Mike from the corner of her eyes and saw he looked as bad as she felt. His thick voice was nearly drowned out by the storm. "I think I'm going to be sick." It was his first ever game - playing against the Cup favourites - in Armageddon style weather. If anybody had incentive to be tense it was Strikey Mikey.

As though detecting anxiety the Captain's bat-signal lit up and Cedric appeared behind the pair, his characteristic easiness carrying with him. Dominique could only detect a hint of nervousness as he pulled back his robe's hood and ran a hand through his hair, having come to recognise it as a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. "You'll be fine, both of you," he assured. "I've seen you fly and you're the best fits for the team."

Mike's attempted response came out as a gargled hum.

"The storm's nuts out there, Ced. We're not going to be able to see anything," Dominique murmured, lowering her volume to keep Mike's mounting stress levels stable. Pre-match panic attacks were never fantastic for morale.

Cedric lips parted to reply but someone shouted over him. "Merlin, have you seen the weather! It's going all apocalypse on the pitch!"

Dominique exhaled and gently face-palmed. _Real delicate, Cadwallader._

Mike squeaked. His green tinged skin implied he might actually throw up and Cedric quickly conjured a nearby bucket, shoving it into his grasp. Dominique herself had to swallow a wave of nervous energy as the unruly sound of the school filing into the stands above them momentarily overtook the storm. "Try not to worry too much about it. After all," said Cedric, summoning a bulging burlap sack, "we have these." He withdrew something and firmly placed it in Dominique's hand before dispersing the rest to the curious team.

Dominique inspected the object in her grip, an eyebrow quirking skeptically as she studied the bulky flying goggles against the shaky locker-room light. One thing was certain; whoever designed them hadn't had fashion in mind. Hoping that they'd accomplish more functionally, she pulled them over her braid and blinked at the screen obscuring her surroundings.

Beside her somebody snorted and Dominique turned to scowl at a snickering Mike. "You look like a house-elf!"

"Don't you have some retching to do?" she asked tartly.

Mike immediately returned to staring into the bucket like a man who'd stumbled upon his own headstone and Dominique felt a twinge of guilt. She grabbed a pair of goggles and yanked them over his head, ruffling his hair as she did. His irritation distracted him for a moment and he swatted her away with a glower but it faltered as a blaring horn resounded inside the tent and the roaring crowd unified with the storm's bellows.

Dominique squared her shoulders. "Game on."

Cadwallader smacked her on the back as they followed the Captain out onto the marshy pitch. The team struggled to walk straight as the pouring gust tossed them around and Dominique felt water began to collect in the hood of her flying robes, weighing her down slightly until it trickled down her spine in miniature streams.

The commentator's announcement was lost in the chaos and Dominique squinted forward to see seven scarlet figures already assembled at the centre of the field. She couldn't separate Katie but Wood was clear enough. Cedric offered him a smile but Wood seemed to have developed a spontaneous case of lockjaw as he tried to crush Cedric's fingers during their customary handshake. The Gryffindor Captain really needed to work on his interpersonal skills.

Dominique's hold slipped against the chilly timber of her broom as everybody mounted. Time seemed to slow to a beat until Hooch's whistle sounded pathetically in the rush and fourteen hazes simultaneously shot up from the muddy ground.

A red blur snatched the quaffle first and Dominique trailed after Alicia. Forceful wind knocked them together like clashing sledgehammers and the quaffle plummeted to a second blur below. Angelina circled pass Cadwallader and performed a very impressive mid-air cartwheel before Smith, with an equally impressive manoeuvre, intercepted. He twisted mid-grab and Dominique begrudgingly admitted that he knew what he was doing - until he panicked in the way of an oncoming bludger and the quaffle fell though his grasp.

It was rapidly seized by a Gryffindor chaser who hurtled through the cluster and managed to send it soaring past a diving Summerby. Gryffindor was in the lead.

As a flash of lighting illuminated the slate-grey clouds Cadwallader took possession. He passed it to Dominique who gripped it like it was her first-born and streaked alongside the rims of the pitch. The crowd was a mass of umbrellas and cloaks and she couldn't discern who was supposed to be supporting who as she blurred past. With a grunt she sent it hurtling back towards Cadwallader on her left who weaved between two players and scored.

Dominique grinned and pushed a drenched piece of hair out of her face. She allowed herself a fractional moment to enjoy Wood's infuriated expression before lowering herself against her wet broom handle and speeding to the other end of the pitch. The sky darkened ominously, masquerading as nightfall in the morning hours.

Time ticked by and Dominique lost track of who was in the lead. Jordan's voice crackled like snippets of an interrupted radio signal when she passed but otherwise the disarray of the game kept everyone disoriented, like playing in a vacuum. Hovering for a moment to readjust her goggles Dominique groaned as Wood blocked another of Smith's attempts at goal. Cedric and Harry were both circling the sky above them like snitch-hungry vultures and Dominique nearly clashed with the latter as he suddenly whirled past her, struggling to stay seated.

Seconds later she found herself diving atop a loose quaffle and manoeuvring through the pandemonium in haste. Her eyes zeroed in on Wood as she neared and Dominique swore his stony features somehow hardened further. She flung the quaffle with muscle-straining force. It barely squeezed through Wood's outstretched hands but Dominique beamed at him jubilantly when it soared through the goals regardless. The brief flash of his eyes promised that she'd pay for it later during tutoring.

Dominique's elation wasn't an extended affair as the Gryffindor team retaliated immediately, picking up in a frenzy of Cirque du Soleil style tactics. Judging from the frequency with which Katie was slam-dunking the Hufflepuff hoop, Dominique had to surmise that her team was losing.

Nevertheless, neither seeker had yet made a move for the snitch. After another speedy interception from Smith, Dominique lunged for the quaffle and zoomed up the pitch, keeping it tucked tightly against her side as she dodged a nose-diving figure. She rolled out of the way, eyes trained on Wood hovering between the three posts like an intimidating pendulum.

She heard it before she felt it.

A distant whoosh to her right and a sickening crunch as a crushing force smashed against her hand, obliterating her wrist between the quaffle and cement-like bludger. Dominique half gasped, half screamed as the quaffle dropped from her excruciatingly pained grasp and she cradled her hand against her chest, grimacing in the rain. Stinging tears trickled from her eyes and collected in her goggles.

" _SHIT, FUCK, SHIT, DAMNIT, SON OF A BITCH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!"_

Dominique's mid-air cusses were suddenly intermingled with a pitifully shrieking whistle and she glimpsed her team assembling on the ground. Mud splashed against her boots when she touched down and she hissed, trying to ignore the jolt the landing sent through her still gloved hand as she entered the circle.

Cedric, soaked to the bone along with the rest of them, had pulled his goggles up over his dripping fringe. His bellowing voice sounded soft against the tempest. "Wood called a break! We have to play very carefully - it's getting dangerous out there! I don't want any of you taking unnecessary risks!"

"What's the score?" Max yelled.

It was Cadwallader who hollered back. "They're up by fifty!"

Squinting against the downpour, the Captain turned to Dominique. "Sammy, let me see your hand!"

Dominique shook her head resolutely and tried to conceal her wrist in the soaked folds of her robes. "I'm fine, don't worry about it!" Raindrops spluttered against her mouth as she spoke.

"Sam." Cedric gave her a sterner look than Dominique thought him capable of and she reluctantly extended her arm. Her wrist flailed limply and her fingers bent out at odd angles under her glove like twisted tree roots. It wasn't a pretty sight. Beside her Mike gagged. Even Max looked slightly alarmed. Cedric managed to contain himself far better. "Right, you're coming off."

"But I've barely been on!" Dominique cried. _I didn't selfishly jeopardise the entire universe for this! They'll have to chain me to the podium to keep me off that broom!_

"At the very least your fingers are dislocated, do you want to make them worse?" Dominique nodded adamantly and continued to protest, reminding him that they'd be playing one man down. Cedric asked if that was really worth losing a hand over. She squinted at him as though the answer was obvious.

His face conflicted, Cedric finally exhaled and reached over for Dominique's hand. She instinctively flinched away as her knuckles continued to pulse, the tapping rain heightening the tender pain. "At least let me tape them," he insisted. Summerby called Hooch for some binding tape and the team watched on as their Captain drew out his wand and layed the tip softly on Dominique's outstretched knuckles. "This is going to hurt," he said apologetically and Dominique tensed. "Episky."

She couldn't muffle the sharp cry that escaped her lips as her fingers simultaneously snapped back into place, the sting searing at a peak until it slowly ebbed. She sucked in a deep breath, collecting a few raindrops as she did and attempted to flex her stiff fingers. Cedric gently grabbed them to stop her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, you'll only aggravate the fractures." Once fully taped he raised Dominique's already bruising hand to his eyes to inspect his handiwork. "How are you feeling?"

"Brilliant!" Dominique beamed, remounting her broom with the rest of the team at the sound of another distant whistle. _If you promise to stick around and play doctor I'll happily shatter my bones on a daily basis._

"Don't put too much pressure on it!" Cedric warned as they dispersed amongst the pewter sky.

Dominique was effectively a cripple for the remainder of the game, flying around like a one-armed pirate and using her good hand to steer her broom whilst its mangled colleague was kept safely tucked against her chest. She discovered that she made a great human barrier, blocking Angelina from scoring and flying near Smith to provide him with bludger cover.

Dominique was shadowing Katie when she narrowly dodged a boot to the face from someone racing past overhead. She turned to scream at the offender over her shoulder before realising it was Cedric, who was hurtling after a tiny fleck of gold that Dominique nearly mistook for a gilded piece of hail. Harry, meanwhile, was hovering at the opposite end of the pitch staring off into space. He only snapped back to reality when Wood's agonized shouts reached his ears around the same time they reached Dominique's. The distance was too far, Dominique realised, and despite the superiority of Harry's Nimbus 2000 the Hufflepuff Captain would be impossible to catch.

The grin slowly spreading across her cheeks suddenly waned as an immense coldness crept up from her toes, settling in her lungs like a blanket of ice. Dominique felt Katie freeze beside her, the quaffle forgotten in her grasp, as their horrified gazes met, captured together in a rawness far chillier and deeper than the frigid rain falling around them. The violent wind was suppressed under a numbly smothering silence, like white noise saturating the air. It was as if they'd both gone deaf.

A swirling movement bellow and a rising faintness caused Dominique's unthinking gaze to drop to the pitch. A black whirlpool covered the field with rotting faces turned skywards, hidden behind torn, billowing cloaks. Dominique instinctively reached out for Katie who grabbed her arm almost simultaneously.

She finally understood the school's fascination with the girl who'd survived the Dementor attack. Hell had converged on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in the form of a gliding, decaying nightmare.

A terrified cry cut through the muteness and Dominique's head cracked up. She followed Katie's frightened eyes to the Gryffindor seeker who was slipping from his broom in a dead faint. Completely petrified, Dominique couldn't move, could only watch as he tipped and spiralled through the air, her Uncle falling to the Dementors' waiting clutches.

With a burst that shook the clouds an immense silver light surged from the stands and they began to scatter. The Dementors slipped away in insidious waves as Dumbledore rushed onto the field, brandishing his wand and casting the most powerful non-corporeal Patronus Dominique had ever seen. In that moment she understood why the Hogwarts Headmaster was the only person Lord Voldemort ever feared.

Harry's body decelerated and slumped against the ground like a ragdoll rather than splattering as gravity typically ruled and both Katie and Dominique hesitated momentarily before speeding to their teams converged around his limp form. Dominique mind raced, her physical body entirely numb, as she witnessed her unconscious Uncle be levitated onto a stretcher, staring wordlessly as Dumbledore escorted his crumpled figure up to the castle.

 _He'll be okay_ , she reassured herself. He was her Uncle Harry, so indestructible it wasn't funny. He defeated the Dark Lord Merlin knew how many times, he could handle a bump against the ground, couldn't he? Spells practically bounded of the kid, he was like an anti-curse trampoline.

Dominique swallowed resolutely and steadied herself. _He would be fine. Harry would be fine._

 _He had to be._

"Mr Diggory?" Madame Hooch interrupted her distressed internal debate. Dominique glanced up to discover all eyes on Cedric and she frowned. Would there be a rematch or would it just be whoever had the most points when Harry fell? Dominique guessed it was for the Captains to decide.

Instead, Hooch was watching Cedric expectantly. He appeared almost ashamed as he stretched open his grasp and the glittering golden snitch flew out, hovering in front of him fleetingly before dashing to freedom. Dominique's mouth formed into a small surprised 'o'. They had won. That was unexpected. One eye trailed over to Wood, whose mouth was also open to couple his unresponsive, horrified eyes.

Cedric rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I didn't see that Potter had fallen," he explained. "We'll have a rematch." The rest of the Hufflepuff team murmured in agreement and Dominique bit her lip, struggling to suppress her objections. On her old Gryffindor team a win was a win, injuries or not.

 _These Hufflepuffs and their damn morals._

"The snitch was caught before the match was interrupted, Diggory," Hooch said. "Hufflepuff wins unless there are any protests from Gryffindor."

Wood had what could only be described as the Quidditch version of the thousand yard stare. He jerked his head when Hooch turned to him, seemingly unable to speak. Hooch blew her whistle a final time, indicating the outcome, before marching off the pitch. Watching Wood listlessly trudge towards the Gryffindor change rooms, Dominique worried that he might attempt to drown himself in the showers and hoped his team-mates, who'd left to check on their injured seeker, would prevent any rash decisions.

Who would tutor her if Wood waterboarded himself?

Afterwards the mood in the Hufflepuff locker-room was far from celebratory and Dominique noticed that Cedric kept glancing in the direction of the school where Harry had been carted off minutes earlier. She shed her goggles and dropped them on the bench across from him. "It's not your fault, you know?" she said, plonking herself down.

His troubled gaze drifted back towards the castle. "I should've seen-"

"Nobody could see anything out there," Dominique interrupted. "You caught the snitch fair and square so stop beating yourself up."

Cedric surveyed Dominique from behind his dripping fringe, eyes unconvinced. Dominique was momentarily distracted as he pushed his hair back off his face, studying the raindrops caught in his eyelashes before forcing her stare away and shaking herself back to her senses. _Pull yourself together, woman!_

She peeled off her shin pads and focused on unfastening her boots in an attempt to distract her traitorous hormones, wincing as her fingers bent unnaturally against the laces. Her skin tingled as Cedric's hand grazed hers, compelling her to pause. "You need to let them heal," he smiled.

A pile of mud slipped off Dominique's boot and onto his robes as he raised her foot onto his lap and she supressed a laugh. Her filthy Quidditch boots didn't quite fit the Cinderella trope most girls dreamed of. But then glass slippers weren't exactly practical sports shoes. As he worked Dominique surveyed her purpling knuckles with a grimace, turning them over in the locker-room light. "How'd you know how to do that earlier? Snap them back into place I mean?" Her nose wrinkled at the memory of the sound.

"My mum's a healer," Cedric said. He gently placed her un-shoed foot on the bench beside him and reached for the other. "Back when I first started flying she said I could only play if I knew how to keep my bones in place."

Dominique laughed at the image of a stern St Mungo's witch wagging a finger down at a tiny Cedric, a diagram of the human anatomy at her side. "Guess I have her to thank then," she said.

"I think the entire team does. You wouldn't believe how many times I've mended Nate's arm," Cedric chuckled. Dominique peered around for the Chaser in question before realising with a jolt that he, along with the rest of the team, had quietly cleared out. Talking with Cedric was a distracting (and potentially dangerous) business. Dominique swore she could've walked off a cliff unawares if it was to the sound of the Captain's voice. She'd have to watch out for that.

"There you go," Cedric said and Dominique gratefully grabbed her boots from him. She wondered if it would be inappropriate to ask him for help with the rest of her Quidditch robes, after all some straps were harder to remove than others… _No, Dominique! Get it together!_

Mentally slapping herself, she hastily removed her socked feet from his lap. "Thanks, Cap. Another patient cured, your officially free of me."

"Thank Merlin for that," he said, grinning at the affronted scoff that came from Dominique as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I have no idea how you managed to get more mud on your socks than your boots. Another mysterious talent, I suppose."

"Hey, you almost booted me in the face during the game, you don't get to enjoy foot related shame!"

"Did I really?" he asked, seemingly torn between concern and amusement. "My aim must be off." Waving a wand to collect the goggles the team has scattered around the room, his smile grew at Dominique's scowl.

Tossing him her own pair and perching her hand on her hips, her expression shifted deviously before settling into her mother's characteristic sneer. "So Potter falls from his broom and you're ready to throw yourself in Azkaban. You nearly give me a concussion and it's just another day at the office. It's almost like you prefer him over me or something."

Cedric's lips titled up at the corners, those famous dimples appearing, and his shoulders shook as he laughed. "Who could prefer anyone over you, Sammy?"

Dominique shoved him roughly on the shoulder with a smile. "Nobody. Ever. In the history of the world. I'm a delight."

* * *

 _Wit-sharpening Potion acts as a counteragent to the Confundus Charm but has been widely used to enhance the drinker's_ _mental clarity for centuries. Ground scarab_ _beetles and ginger roots are central components but the key ingredient of Wit-sharpening potion is…_

"…the key ingredient is…is…" Dominique stifled a yawn against her palm and stared blankly at her parchment. "I have no bloody idea."

"Maybe you should've listened in class then. Are you really not coming?" Leanne asked.

Dominique snuggled deeper into her quilt and coughed exaggeratedly. "I'm sick." She coughed again for good measure. "See?" Leanne appeared unimpressed and Dominique pouted as she resecured her ponytail. "Aw come on Leanne, don't tell me you've never ditched before! And besides it's not like I don't have a reason!"

"Procrastination is not an excuse!" Leanne exclaimed. She cast Dominique a final disapproving glare before plodding down the dormitory stairs and, presumably, to class. She had a point. The entire reason Dominique was hiding out in the Hufflepuff Dormitory was so she could finish Snape's potions essay, due the last period of the day. She'd rather face the punishments of all her other teachers combined than deal with Snape's doubtlessly horrid reprisal.

This is what she got for listening to Witching Hour reruns over the Wizarding Wireless Network with Katie while homework piled up on the sidelines. Leanne was right, as the hours stretched by and the measurement of her parchment didn't seem to lengthen Dominique began to regret putting Snape's essay off.

As she invented a potioneer to cite as a reference – _I mean it's not like Snape could know every single potioneer in history, right?_ – her stomach growled noisily. Dominique riffled through her bedside table and discovered to her dismay that she'd torn through her Honeydukes stock already. And it wasn't as if she could mosey on up to the Great Hall for lunch - her lack of debilitating illness would raise some awkward questions. Dominique's empty stomach moaned again, doing a very good imitation of a whale, and she concocted a plan.

She shoved her pathetically stubby parchment aside and jumped out of bed before creeping through the deserted Common Room. It was less than a two minute walk to the kitchens, there was no way she would get caught. And the house-elves were always weirdly happy to have people blunder in and demand to be fed. It's what made James and Dominique so popular with them back in the future.

Crouching in the largest barrel, Dominique peered around the basement to ensure that Filch wasn't lurking behind a torch bracket, iron chains at the ready. The coast seemed clear and she stumbled out before sneaking towards the kitchens. Halfway across the corridor, an oddly shaped shadow wrought its outline along the stone floor and Dominique craned her neck towards the archway where a dark silhouette was passing. It looked as though they had a stiff vertical sack thrown over their shoulder. Almost like they were hauling around a body bag.

Rumbling stomach forgotten, Dominique's eyes widened and she tiptoed after them, peering round the archway corner. The lone figure continued down the corridor and up a set of marble stairs, their footfall surprisingly quiet for someone so bulky. Dominique could make out their masculine figure but the hooded jumper pulled over the back of their head obscured further identification.

She only briefly questioned her faulty self-preservation instincts before following them. Dominique mirrored their actions, pausing when they paused and ducking behind corners when they did, intuitively sensing that they were avoiding detection for reasons other than their apparent ditching. She strongly suspected it had something to do with the human-shaped sack they were hauling around.

As they crept through the Tapestry Corridor, Dominique's reasoning seemed only more rational as something began to leak out of the sagging corner of the bag. She squinted at the spotted trail the dark, wet liquid peppered after the figure and knelt down to inspect a pool that had collected when they'd rested. She dipped her finger in and it came out glistening and sticky, a strange red-brown colour.

Dominique's eyes widened. Was that – _blood?_

Her stomach swooped and she hastily wiped her finger on her robes. Someone had been murdered at Hogwarts and she was alone with the prime suspect. She definitely shouldn't have ditched.

A disgruntled sigh sounded from in front of her as the figure inspected the leaking liquid from their bag. Dominique leapt behind a suit of armour when they glanced over their shoulder and held her breath till she was blue in the face. She was too young to die.

Drawn-out seconds later, she felt nerve enough to turn round and peered through the gap between the suit of armours elbow and hip-placed hand. The silhouette shifted their weight and turned so that the face under their hood was visible. Dominique muffled a gasp against her fist.

 _Son of a bitch he actually did it._

 _Oliver Wood is a murderer._

 _Last weekend's loss must have sent him over the edge_ , she realised as he heaved his victim's body up higher on his shoulder. Should she get a teacher? Professor McGonagall's classroom was closest. _How exactly do you burst into someone's lecture and immediately break the news to them that you believe the Captain of their House team might be a homicidal maniac?_

Could that situation be approached with tact? She doubted it.

Dominique was mentally plotting the quickest escape route when she felt herself tipping over. She'd leant too heavily on the suit of armour and lost her balance, pulling the silver chainmail down with her. The clatter was thunderous. She clenched her eyes shut as silver armour scattered around her and clashed against the ancient stone floors, announcing her position to the entire First Floor. A tremendously heavy silence stifled the air for a flash that could've stretched a lifetime. And then she felt his presence by her head. Dominque shrunk back into the floor, trying to become one with the dusty rugs beneath the collapsed armour.

" _James?"_

Dominique predicted that if she had guts enough to meet his eyes she'd be able to detect tiny infernos brewing in his irises. Forget Sirius Black, here was the man the Dementors should be shielding her from. She smiled sheepishly. "Hi, Wood."

He was livid. As her mind spluttered through various excuses for her compromising position that didn't involve stalking him through the castle a piercing meow cut through the air. Dominique's head slowly twisted to her right, landing on a pair of eye-level beams, shinning at her like yellow lanterns through their accusing stare. Tail swishing contentedly and whiskers bristled, Mrs Norris had the distinct air of having caught someone red handed. The cat bowed and trod out of sight, no doubt to fetch its master…which meant that Filch would come wheezing round the corner any moment.

Dominique's breath hitched as she suddenly felt herself being yanked up. "Hey!"

Wood nearly pulled her arm out of its socket as he dragged her down the Tapestry Corridor. He inadvertently whacked her in the face with his body-bag as he hauled her through an open door and slammed it closed behind them. They were immediately drowned in pitch black and Dominique found herself pressed against a deranged killer. She didn't dare speak, instead mentally pleading with whatever deity was out there watching, as Wood fumbled round in the dark for light. Dominique cowered back as the lamp flickered on.

They were in a storeroom, surrounded by shelves of odd specimens in jars. Eyeballs floated here and crushed horns were labelled there. Nausea pervaded the atmosphere and as the toxic smell of the ingredients assailed her nose Dominique decided that whoever owned this place needed to invest in some air freshener. Wood cleared his throat pointedly and Dominique took a hesitant step backwards, finding herself pressed against the wooden door. Her fingers grazed the handle and desperately twisted it, only to find it was bolted shut. She was trapped. He cleared his throat again and Dominique's gaze reluctantly met his.

Wood's expression was exasperatedly expectant, as though he was waiting for her to explain herself. Dominique decided to plead for her life instead. "Listen, Wood, I know you hate tutoring me, but is murder really the right option? You can't play Quidditch in Azkaban!" she reasoned in a panicky tone. She considered getting down on her knees and outright begging but decided against it – if she was going to die it was going to be with at least a _little_ dignity.

"What the hell are you on about?" he demanded.

Dominique's eyes subtly travelled down to his red stained bag and Wood followed her line of sight. His brows furrowed before his face lit up in disbelief. "You think I killed someone?" he hissed. He took a step closer and Dominique instinctively shrunk back. "James, tell me you're kidding."

"If I do will you let me live?"

Wood scoffed and rolled his eyes so violently that Dominique feared they might fall out. He knelt down and unzipped the bag and Dominique yelped, throwing her hands over her eyes. "I don't want to see any corpses!"

"It's not a corpse, you numpty! It's a broom stick!" he exclaimed.

 _Uh, what?_ Dominique disregarded her temporary relief, keeping her lids shut and shifting further away. "Prove it," she challenged.

Pressure suddenly circled her wrist and pulled Dominique down to her knees. Her eyes flew open and she found herself inches away from Wood's face. She blanched, frozen by the proximity, and only recovered herself when he inclined his head towards the floor. She warily peeked down. A glossy broom was nestled amongst the folds of Wood's Quidditch bag, positioned innocently and surrounded by an inexplicable lack of human limbs. She frowned. "What about the blood?"

"Blood? What blo – Merlin, you mean this?" Wood questioned, brandishing a bottle of mahogany broom polish at her. It was practically empty and burgundy liquid was trailing down its side from the half open lid. Dominique's attention finally landed on Wood's dirty training robes. Fresh mud was caked into the hem and there didn't appear to be any noticeable signs, namely bloody handprints or torn fabric, which suggested he'd just offed someone.

He'd just been out for a fly. Dominique smiled guiltily. "My bad."

Wood shook his head incredulously. " _'My bad'_? You're completely ridiculous, you know that?"

Dominique pursed her lips and shifted defensively. "You know it's not that unreasonable an assumption. If anyone's wound up enough for homicide around here, it's you. Not to mention the fact that you were hauling around a body-shaped package through the castle in the middle of lessons. I was just making sure that you hadn't gone and dismembered one of my team-"

Wood suddenly clapped a hand over Dominique's mouth and her pupils expanded in shock. She squirmed and struggled against his hold but his frantic shushing rang in her ears, his breath ghosting the back of her neck. Dominique's eyes darted up to his face and registered his tense expression. She quieted down and listened.

Somebody trudged around outside, their shuffling footsteps growing nearer. A cat purred and knuckles rapped against the wooden door. Dominique petrified against Wood's hand as she watched the shadows pause under the sunlit door crack.

"Snape's store cupboard, my sweet?" Filch asked. "Nasty things he's got in there, very nasty things. No, he locks that thing too well for the little brats to get into." Dominique's neck pulse raced against Wood's forearm as Mrs Norris purred insistently but the caretaker had already begun to hobble away. "Must've gone this way, the beasts. Don't you worry, Mrs Norris, we'll find them."

Dominique's blood continued to pound until Filch's mutterings faded to obscurity. Statues on the storeroom floor, Dominique regained her struggle against Wood's hand but he remained inert. As her airflow restricted she reluctantly stuck out her tongue and licked his palm, screwing her nose up at the sweaty taste.

Wood ripped it away as though he'd been electrocuted. "What'd you do that for?" he demanded. Dominique sniffed affectedly as he wiped his hand on his robes.

"You we're suffocating me! I couldn't breathe! You're lucky I didn't bite you!" As Wood ogled his soiled hand in disgust Dominique's gaze travelled to the packed shelves lining the walls from floor to towering ceiling. She gagged at the nearby sight of pickled bat wings. "Did you hear what Filch said? This is Snape's private storeroom! If he finds us in here he'll skin us alive!"

"Honestly, James would you calm down," Wood muttered, righting himself up. He fixed his Quidditch bag and threw it over his shoulder, casting her an agitated look. "Just open the door and we'll sneak back to the Common Rooms. Filch has to be gone by now."

"That's not exactly an option," Dominique replied, an edge of panic dousing her tone.

Wood's blue eyes darkened. "And why is that?"

"We're locked in."

"What?" he growled. Wood pushed past her and began to wrestle with the doorhandle, struggling with ox-like force. His arms strained against the fabric of his jumper and his face reddened as he slammed a fist against the door. He swivelled round suddenly. "Where's your wand?" he asked.

"Back in my dormitory," Dominique remembered aloud. Kitchen trips usually didn't require self-arming.

"How are you not carrying a wand?" Wood asked, infuriated. He began brawling with the door again and Dominique threw her hands up in the air in exasperation.

"I wasn't the one that got us stuck in here!" she cried. "And where's yours, you hypocrite!"

"I wasn't the one that demolished a suit of armour!" he countered angrily. "And do you usually take your wand out flying?"

"Well no," Dominque admitted. "But that's beside the point – hang on, why were you out flying now anyway, don't you have class?"

"Don't you?" Wood retorted before giving up on the door with a longsuffering groan. He dropped his Quidditch bag against the floor with a thud and slid down the wooden frame. "I just needed to get out. Some time to think things through."

"Questioning your life's purpose after last week?" Dominique guessed acerbically. "It was _quite_ a thrashing."

"No," Wood spat. His jaw clenched and he appeared to be fighting the urge to strangle her. Dominique spotted a vein visibly pulsing in his forehead. "And it wasn't a _thrashing_ ; if it weren't for the Dementors Gryffindor would've destroyed you! We're the best team in the school!"

Dominique's response was dripping in sarcasm. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Wood." She hadn't yet decided why she enjoyed riling him up so much but it was quickly becoming her favourite hobby. She supposed that she'd never exactly be Miss Congeniality from his perspective and so the pair used each other to vent their frustrations.

 _Sounds healthy to me_ , Dominique internally sighed.

Wood opened his mouth to respond but, as though thinking better of it, jammed it back shut with iron rigidness. "Keep it up James and I'll become the murderer you think I am," he finally threatened. Tense seconds passed until his expression calmed. "Why aren't you in class?"

"I'm 'sick'," Dominique explained, making air quotes with her fingers around the last word. "Needed to finish an essay for Snape but I got hungry so I was sneaking into the kitchens when I saw you and your body-bag shaped package and er…"

"Stalked me?" Wood provided tone unimpressed. His back was straight against the door, one leg stretched out while the other was propped up to his chest and Dominique shook her head.

"Stalked is such a strong word," she disagreed.

"Accurate, though." Wood said. Dominique could've sworn the corners of his lips twisted upwards but the gesture disappeared so quickly she decided she imagined it. That or it was wind.

"Regardless of word choice, I'm screwed anyway. Can't finish Snape's essay from in here, ironically enough."

"What was it on?" Wood asked, pulling his maroon hoodie up over his head. Dominique's eyes widened as she glimpsed a bit of unexpectedly toned, tanned torso and she hurriedly cleared her throat. Merlin, her pervy teenage alter ego was running wild these days.

"Oh, er, Wit-sharpening potion. I had the scarab beetles and ginger roots down but I couldn't remember the final ingredient." Was it just her or was her voice slightly flustered?

Wood twisted round and began to rummage through a few slimy looking jars on the lowest shelf. He emerged with a vial of dark green sludge and shoved it under Dominique's nose. She leant away and squinted and the messy scrawl stretched over the attached label. Armadillo bile.

Dominique's face spread into a grin as she recognised the final ingredient. "Shit, thanks!" she laughed, inspecting the slightly bubbly mixture. It was coloured like lime cordial but had the thick consistency of honey. She peered up at Wood who looked slightly entertained by her overjoyed response. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I have a life outside of Quidditch, you know?" he said, placing the armadillo bile back onto the shelf. Wood glimpsed Dominique's sceptical expression and relented with a huff of breath. "And I need certain NEWTS to play pro."

"I have faith you'll get them," she said offhandedly. He would eventually Captain the Scottish National Team, after all. Growing stiff, Dominique shifted on the floor and felt a pressure against her lower back. Reaching into her back pocket she withdrew an unopened liquorice wand and smiled triumphantly as her stomach celebrated. She tore it in two and distractedly extended half towards Wood but he failed to grab it. Dominique glanced and found him peering at her doubtfully. "What?"

"Was that a compliment, James?" he asked in a dubious voice and Dominique rolled her eyes. He finally grabbed the liquorice piece and Dominique shoved her own half in her mouth.

"Don't be so surprised," she said scornfully. "I'm actually quite nice when you give me the chance."

"When you're not acting like a brat, you mean?" Wood inquired.

"I should've let you starve," she muttered, rolling up the liquorice wand wrapper and shoving it in her pocket. "You know I didn't ask to be tutored. I dislike it as much as you do."

"I don't think that's possible," Wood muttered but Dominique ignored the jibe.

"Listen, we both hate the situation, right? So let's just get it over and done with as soon as possible. The only way I can think of doing that is by proving to McGonagall that I don't need your help anymore. So you teach me what I need to know crash course style and I'll make sure to put in a good word so that she'll let you off the hook. Then you can go back to your unhealthy Quidditch obsession and I can go back to peaceful Thursday evenings without the fear of assassination."

Wood's expression was uncertain as he surveyed Dominique through slightly narrowed eyes. "Fine," he eventually agreed. "Deal." He shook Dominique's outstretched hand, thankfully without the force he'd employed on Cedric.

Dominique grinned. _Look at me being all diplomatic and shit._ She ran a hand through her hair, frowning as it got caught in a clipped back piece. Her eyes lit up as her fingers rummaged through the secured section and she laughed triumphantly as they emerged with a bobby-pin in tow.

"What's so funny?" Wood asked, sounding bored.

"I can get us out of here!" Dominique announced. She propped herself up on her knees and leant against the wooden storeroom door, knowing that it was a technique the muggle-scorning Snape wouldn't have protected against. After bending the bobby-pin the way her cousin Roxanne had taught her she positioned it inside the lock and tried a few experimental jiggles.

Wood watched cynically as Dominique fiddled with her makeshift key, his expression mildly shocked when the distinctive and triumphant click of door unlocking sounded. Dominique smirked at him and lightly pushed on the wooden timber, which swung open with an almost mocking ease.

Together, the pair slowly rose to stretch their aching limbs and Wood looked down at Dominique with an unreadable expression. "James, I may have underestimated you."


	8. The Naughty List

**The Naughty List**

"Sam, don't even think about it. I'm not hauling your popsicled body out of there once the ice cracks."

Dominique huffed and tore her wistful gaze from the Black Lake. Leanne shook her head and wrapped a hand around her arm, steering her to lunch alongside Katie.

Winter had crept upon Hogwarts, transforming the grounds into vanilla hills and forming dainty icicles along the castle's stone rims. Since waking to find the Hufflepuff windows half submerged in cold, white powder, Dominique had been trying (and failing) to convince the girls to partake in her annual tradition of ice-skating across the frozen lake, a muggle activity Victoire had discovered one winter in France. Naturally the two purebloods weren't convinced.

Passing the twelve enormous Christmas trees bordering the house tables, Dominique still had trouble trusting their corporeality. Only a week ago she'd stumbled upon Cedric and the other prefects, directed by a flustered Uncle Percy of course, levitating house-elf shaped baubles into the Great Hall. Convinced they'd misread the date, she was thrown the following morning when Peeves blitzed the student-body with a bombardment Christmas ornaments, sparkly decorations ricocheting through the halls like bullet fire in a very festive assault. As Flitwick bounded after him from corridor to corridor he hung shimmering tinsel and whistled carols and the scent of gingerbread emanating from the nearby kitchens suddenly overtook the Hufflepuff Common Room.

The whole affair was making Dominique increasingly distrustful of calendars. One minute the Weasley twins were sullenly apologising for mangling her hand in the November match and the next she was hexing McLaggen for pointing out inconveniently placed mistletoe. Truth be told though, if anyone was aware of time's duplicity it was Dominique Weasley.

"Are you sure you don't want us to stay?" Leanne asked for the thousandth time as Dominique scooped some peas onto her place. The enchanted ceiling above was swirling in the peaceful snowdrift they'd just abandoned outside but the chill was absent in the magically warmed room.

"Yeah, I'm sure my parents won't mind if I stick around," Katie added, tugging off her thick Gryffindor scarf.

Dominique quirked a brow. "What do you two think I'm going to do, go stir crazy?" She didn't confide that she was mildly terrified of pulling a Jack Torrance herself in their absence. "I'll be fine. You guys have fun, go home, see your families." She swallowed the lump threatening to form in her throat and mushed some peas with her fork.

"Just promise you won't attempt that ice-blading thing," Leanne sighed.

" _Skating_ , Leanne. Say it with me: ' _skating._ '"

Leanne stuck her tongue out and Katie snorted, quickly returning to discussing their plans for the two week break. Dominique propped her chin up on her hand and feigned interest whilst her mind wandered to the conversation she'd had with Sprout earlier that morning. Warm and fuzzy as they tended to be, all the Hufflepuffs were returning home on the Hogwarts Express the following afternoon bar a single student: poor orphan Samantha James was condemned to spend Christmas lazing around the Common Room, wallowing in homesickness and self-pity.

Dominique shoved a mince pie in her mouth to fight a burgeoning pout and mentally recited the advantages of her solitude. Firstly, she could start mulling through Dumbledore's reading list, or as she affectionately referred to it, the ' _So You've Sent Yourself Back in Time Collection_.' Slightly less pressingly, she'd have free range of the Hufflepuff couches and could maybe, just maybe, enjoy an intermission in the never-ending stage-show that was her life – temporarily hang up the Sam costume and just be Dominique.

And who knew, maybe she'd share a Christmas cracker with Peeves. She sighed into her palm. _That'd_ be the day.

"…have a good one. You too James."

Dominique's head sprang up and she struggled to smooth the frown lining her forehead. "Er, right back at you, Wood."

She couldn't quite conceal the questioning undertone shading her voice and Wood nodded awkwardly. He shuffled on the spot for a second before retreating, reminding Katie to practise her swerve over the break and returning her smile as he did. Dominique's jaw nearly plummeted into her lunch at the sight, surprised that his facial muscles were capable of the motion.

 _How disconcertingly out of character_ , she mused.

"You two are so weird," Katie snickered, watching Dominique with a strange smirk.

"Care to clarify, Katie dear?" Dominique asked threateningly.

Leanne responded instead. "She's right, you know? First you want to kill each other, now you're exchanging seasonal pleasantries."

"Well what did you want me to do, tell him to bugger off?" Dominique exclaimed. Her eyes narrowed as Katie whispered something in Leanne's ear, the words 'broom' and 'cupboard' irritatingly clear among the mumble. The girls erupted into giggles.

Dominique glowered into her goblet of pumpkin juice. "You two gain an awful lot of entertainment from my perpetual embarrassment, don't you?"

"You know you love us," Katie sing-songed.

Leanne smiled warmly. "I don't know how you get into these situations, Sammy. First a tent with Diggory, now a broom cupboard with Wood. Planning on dragging Mike into toilet stall anytime soon?"

Dominique shot her a withering glare and raised the goblet to her lips. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

The class bell suddenly reverberated through the Great Hall and students slowly shuffled out from the four tables, headed for their final lesson of the year. As Leanne dusted crumbs from her skirt Katie surveyed Dominique with an impish glimmer. "Keep it up, Sam, and you'll end up with a sack of coal Christmas morning."

A bark of laugher escaped her as Dominique slung her satchel over a shoulder. "Darling, I was _born_ on the naughty list."

* * *

Ice shards sparked around Dominique's ankles like tiny diamonds as she skidded to a halt at the edge of the frozen lake. Black ice bled into snow on the downy shore where her multiple sweaters were piled, having shed them earlier when her limbs began to blaze. With a heavy exhale she sped off again.

The pine trees surrounding her were dusted in icing-sugar snow, darting up into the cloudless sky. The grounds were remarkably still as her bladed skates carved shapes into the lake, deserted as the majority of the school perused through Hogsmeade before the train left that afternoon. Dominique, having become slightly addicted to Diagon Alley mail order catalogues, had finished her Christmas shopping months ago and was using her friend's brief absence to, as they called it, _'crack some ice and die a cold, lonely death.'_

Dominique smiled. Her mother had had an almost identical reaction the first time Victoire had suggested it.

"Samantha James what in Merlin's name are you doing?"

Dominique's stomach plummeted. She squeaked as her balance slipped and she swivelled round jaggedly but the sight of the figure standing by her discarded coat, the scarlet fabric like a blood-drop on the pale ground, allowed her to steady. His cold flushed cheeks peaked over the precariously piled parcels laden in his arms and he smiled amusedly as she weaved towards him.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Cap?"

"It _looks_ like your tempting fate," Cedric stated with slightly raised brows.

Dominique sighed long-sufferingly and slowed to a stop. "You people are so unimaginative! I'm skating!"

"Skating?" he repeated uncertainty, glancing towards Dominique's boots. She lifted a foot so the steel blade was clearly visible and wiggled her toes before remembering they were firmly encased in her transfigured shoes.

"Ice-skating," she explained, smile widening at Cedric's perplexed expression. Dominique twirled on the spot and performed a low curtsy, garnering a chuckle. "Want to try?"

"No offence, Sammy, but you're not the best judge of what's considered safe by normal people's standards," he pointed out.

Scoffing in response, Dominique wondered where people were getting the idea that she was going to constantly endanger them, remembering then the casualty count she'd racked up over class mishaps and Quidditch accidents. Madame Pomfrey had started a tally. Shrugging that thought off, she reached out towards Cedric. "Come on! It'll be fun! I can transfigure your boots and everything!" she pleaded. "Don't make me skate alone."

Cedric's lips twitched. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"Of fun!" she promised. Her face split into a wide grin when Cedric reluctantly dropped his parcels. As she transfigured his boots and half-shoved him onto the ice she promised that loss of limb was extremely unlikely. As long as he didn't trip too hard. Or fall through the ice. Or slice anything off with his skates.

Cedric paled as she spoke. "Yeah, I'm getting the picture, Sam. I think I'm good on the gruesome details."

It took several laps before he could tear his gaze from his wobbling blades and he gripped Dominique's gloved hand with a firmness that had more to do with fear of bodily injury than sentimental attachment. Dominique squeezed it back reassuringly nonetheless. She was just triumphantly deciding that she'd singlehandedly discovered the solitary action that Cedric Diggory couldn't immediately master – an impressive feat in her mind – when his clumsy glides evened themselves out and his tight grip relaxed.

She swore that her eyes rolled of their own accord. _How typical_.

Given that it had taken her several years to skate without the air of a constipated penguin, Dominique was half tempted to trip him up. Her vindictive urges ebbed though when Cedric glanced up and beamed at her with one of those dimpled grins that turned every female in a three mile radius into a puddle. "Where'd you come up with this?" he asked.

But Dominique's thought process was incommunicado, too distracted by the sunlight playing off his fair hair and the warmth of his grip, and as a result her brain spontaneously disconnected from her mouth. "Every year my sister took me skating. She's the one who taught me how to transfigure boots."

A sudden and weighty yank along Dominique's side swept the ice beneath her skates whilst the ground flew from under her. Her heart flipped as her forearm coasted backwards to protect her spine from crashing into the frozen surface and she heard Cedric simultaneously clatter to the ground with a painful thud beside her. Legs splayed out in a tangle, she groaned and felt the cold seep through her gloves as she pushed herself upwards to brush away the hair obscuring her dizzied vision.

"You know I'm a little glad you tripped. You were beginning to upstage me-"

Cedric cut her off. "Your _sister_?"

"Yeah my…" Dominique trailed off as the screaming protests of her subconscious rose to the forefront, causing her mouth to freeze. Horrified eyes boring into Cedric's, an eternal second passed. Samantha James was an only child. She didn't have a sister. And yet there she was chatting away about said non-existent sister's winter sporting activities. "Holy shit."

Dominique frantically scrambled to stand but stumbled and crashed back into the ice, hearing herself splutter intelligible string of apologies and excuses that could've been in Latin for all the sense they made. Trying and failing yet again to make her escape, the scene was a good indication of just how unco-ordinated she could be in moments of pressure, but Dominique didn't notice; she was too busy flinching away from Cedric when he reached out to steady her.

A fresh tear had formed in Samantha James' mask and the seams were continuing to split.

"Sam, stop, wait a minute." He grabbed her shoulders in a half-cradle, half-restraint and stilled her movement. "You're going to hurt yourself, slow down...please," he added softly.

Dominique thought it might've been the calming way he spoke, or simply the fact that he wasn't accusing her of lying about her entire backstory, that ceased her struggling as her heart continued to thunder away in her chest. But the stillness caused a new emotion to rear its inconvenient head; not panic but something else altogether. Dominique admonished herself as her eyes began pricking.

 _Really!? Now is not the time!_

She'd braved broken bones and failing classes and homesickness and Wood and Dementor related notoriety and _freaking_ _time-travel_ and she'd be damned if a Freudian slip brought on the waterworks. Hastily wiping the tears welling along her waterline, she swallowed the raw lump in her throat as it vaguely registered that of all the places to have a psychological breakdown, ice wasn't the safest. But maybe it didn't matter, because she had just made a catastro-fuck up of monumental proportions.

Cedric was still bracing her up as though she'd crumble through the ice if released. His thumb was rubbing her shoulder in small, comforting circles and he was watching her like she was made of porcelain. "Just breathe, okay?" he urged. "If you don't want to talk about it we don't have to."

Dominique clenched her eyes shut. Nothing was ever that easy. Letting out a shaky breath, she chanted internally, _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry,_ and finally faced Cedric full on. There was no mistrust visible in his features, purely confusion and perhaps the barest hint of curiosity, and that steadied her wobbly voice ever so slightly. "Can you actually pretend I didn't just say that? That nothing slipped out? Because, Ced, if you've somehow mastered the ability to force yourself to forget things like that I'd love to learn how."

"You know I can't," he sighed. "That doesn't mean I'm going to make you talk about it, Sam, not if you don't want to."

Dominique was as surprised as he was by the words that came pouring out of her next. "And what if I _do_ want to talk about it?"

Shifting on the ice, Cedric wrapped an arm around her and drew Dominique to his side. The scent of honey drifted from his coat and filled Dominique's nose as she rested her head on his shoulder, surprised by the warmth radiating off him in the frigid air. "Then I'll listen," he said simply.

Another second passed and she tried to figure out where to start. Her mouth parted but no sound came out. She didn't know what to say.

She wanted to tell him that Victoire's favourite colour was violet and that Louis hummed in his sleep. That her sister had been in love with Teddy Lupin since she was seven and a half and that she trusted her brother more than anyone else in the world. She wanted to describe the pillow-forts they used to make in thunderstorms and the way fireworks lit up the horizon at Shell Cottage when her uncle would smuggle them over. She wanted to say that she missed them more than she thought humanely possible and admit that she was so afraid of forgetting them.

But how could she say _anything_ without unravelling _everything?_

Finally, she found a place to begin. "No one was supposed to know," she mumbled. "Dumbledore thought it might be easier if I didn't have to talk about them. I was already the orphan, why did I have a dead brother and sister too?"

"Was it?" Cedric asked softly.

Dominique almost didn't recognise the bitter laugh that sounded in the space as her own. Frowning and fiddling with her gloves as a distraction, she shook her head instead. "To pretend that people I love don't exist...I've never done anything harder in my life."

Cedric pulled her closer and his jaw grazed her hairline. "What were their names?"

"Gabrielle and Charles," she muttered with their middle-names. The pair had been christened after aunts and uncles whereas she'd been graced with her grandmother's extravagantly French Apolline. Her mother always said that with it, she'd inherited her grand-mère's flair for the dramatic. Smiling at the thought, Dominique continued. "Gabrielle was the eldest – the responsible one. She was so, so beautiful it wasn't funny. Made me jealous sometimes," she admitted with sad chuckle. "Charles was the youngest. He was the best brother anyone could ask for. Sometimes it felt a bit like he was off in his own world, a little bit unobservant, you know? But then he'd say something and you'd realise much he really saw."

Cedric nodded and Dominique sensed his eyes trained on her face. Instead of meeting his gaze, she stared forward into the shadowed tree-line where the stillness comforted her thoughts.

"Mum and dad were as different as it was possible to be but they really loved each other. Dad was a bit of a thrill seeker – not as bad as my other uncles, mind you - but bad enough. Mum was sort of a professional worrier." Dominique laughed again at the memory of her parent's antics. "When we were younger she used to put tracking spells on us. She was so worried about us getting hurt or – or lost..."

She clenched her mouth shut to fight the sob that had threatened to catch in her words and Cedric's grip tightened around her. Breathing slowly and ducking her head between the knees she'd drawn to her chest, Dominique waited another moment for the tears to stop spilling before she re-emerged and hastily wiped away the wetness on her cheeks with a sniff.

With a laugh that sounded too strangled to be genuine, she twisted her head, still propped on her knees, so that she could see Cedric properly. "You must think I'm a real basket case, huh?"

An unreadable emotion darted across his face for half a second but had disappeared by the time he brought his forehead down so that it was resting against hers. Dominique didn't shy away at the contact, allowing herself for the briefest of moments to get lost. _Those eyes are going to be the death of me,_ she thought, feeling like she was melting under them. It occurred to her that silver, flecked with dashes of pale green and blue, might've been her favourite colour, and she wondered in that moment, had her eyes been her own, if Cedric would be counting the shades in them too.

"Sam, you might be the strongest person I know," he said sincerely. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I wish things were different."

"Me too." Dominique's spare hand found his and she squeezed it thankfully. Had it been anyone else she was here, sprawled out on the ice with, they would've already forced Veritaserum down her throat and she'd be halfway to the interrogation cells in the Department of Mysteries. But it wasn't anyone else. It was Cedric. And there was something she couldn't name travelling in the mere inches between them, as if whatever was controlling her knew that this was the furthest she had allowed those barbed wire wrapped walls called self-preservation down for anyone in months. She could feel her common sense slipping away as neither she or Cedric moved to pull away.

The abrupt hoot of an owl soaring overhead broke whatever spell was working seconds earlier and Dominique regained her wit. As it's winged shadow rushed over the frost beneath them both righted themselves out of the somewhat compromising position, Cedric clearing his throat and Dominique fiddling with the length of her braid as they created a respectable amount of distance...one that no potential witnesses would have cause to question.

After a couple of seconds, Cedric spoke. "Er, Sammy, I don't know about you but I can't feel anything from the waist-down."

"That's probably early stage frostbite," Dominique said seriously. Cedric glanced up at her in alarm and Dominique broke into laughter, her cheeks stretching at the foreign movement. "We should head back to the castle. You don't want to miss your train." Heaving himself up first, Cedric didn't relinquish Dominique's hand after he helped her stand, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed.

Dominique took it for what it was: a promise that things hadn't changed between them.

Smiling faintly, she ducked her head and studied the way her blades imbedded in the chipped ice as they journeyed back to the shore. "Ced, what are your parents like?" she asked, truly curious about the conditions under which the world's most annoyingly humble human-being was raised.

"They're the best people I know," Cedric answered and Dominique's lips tugged up at the genuine warmth of his tone. "You already know mum's a healer. She likes to cook and always sings when she does. She lets me help sometimes – cooking, not singing," he clarified and Dominique laughed at the image whilst she reverse-transfigured their skates to shoes. Cedric gathered his parcels and she shrugged back into her multiple layers, protected by her crimson coat. By the end she resembled a sweatered Michelin Man.

"And your dad?" she asked.

"He works at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He loves Quidditch, like us," here Cedric shot her a smile. "He wants me to play pro once I'm done with school."

"Is that what you want?"

Cedric shrugged. "Why not? I'd have to actually be offered a spot first." Dominique didn't comment on the hidden reluctance buried in his words, knowing that she wasn't exactly in a position to demand explanations. "It'll be good to see them again. Are you staying at school?"

Dominique nodded and rocked on her heels. "Nothing says Yuletide like having a giant ass castle to myself for two weeks, right?" she said with unconvincing enthusiasm. Forcing a smile, she stepped closer to Cedric. "Have a good break, Ced. Take care of yourself, and if I don't see you before the train leaves, Merry Christmas."

Cedric cradled his parcels in one arm and used the other to draw Dominique into a hug. Her cheeks coloured and her eyes clenched close as he murmured into her hair. "Merry Christmas, Sammy." Head burrowed into his chest, Dominique realised something quite serious.

She really needed to sort her shit out.

* * *

Thankfully, Dominique _didn't_ develop frostbite from her ice-skating misadventures. Instead she contracted pneumonic plague. Or so she suspected…

"Miss James, don't be so dramatic," Madame Pomfrey tutted as Dominique asked where, if the facilities were indeed available in the castle, it would be possible for her to draw up a will.

Between time-travel induced comas, swelling solution explosions, Quidditch crushed hands and the Black Death it was quite possible that the matron was beginning to tire of Dominique's constant presence in the Hospital Wing - even if it was only to restock on Pepperup Potion before re-quarantining herself in the abandoned Common Room. Her holidays had thus far been divided between struggling through Dumbledore's cheerfully morose booklist – if she read the words 'total protonic reversal' _one more time_ she'd scream – and lying comatose by the roaring Hufflepuff fireplace in a pile of empty potions vials and tissues.

Loneliness was suffocating her.

Dominique spent Christmas Eve in the company of two house-elves named Binky and Tippy who practically force-fed her turkey as though gluttony could cancel out melancholy. Whilst appreciating the sentiment it would be years before she could stomach poultry again. Predictably, Christmas Lunch was neither joyful nor triumphant as Harry, Ron and Hermione had elected to stick around for the Hogwarts festivities. Things had soured especially when Dominique's red-headed uncle asked her to pass the cranberry sauce and she nearly choked on a chunk of Yorkshire pudding. Suffice it to say that the table relied on Derek, the practically quaking First Year besides her, to pass the condiments from that point onwards.

Considering this relative emotional instability Dominique was unsurprised, although slightly self-admonishing, when she nearly burst into tears upon discovering a small pile of presents amassed at the foot of her bed on Christmas morning. Katie and Leanne had chipped in to buy her a second-hand Wizarding Wireless radio set and Mike gifted a bronze broom compass.

Cedric's gift lay at the heart of the pile and Dominique rolled her eyes at her own stupidly fluttering heart as her fingers trailed over the smooth sapphire wrapping paper.

 _Enough with the teenage melodrama, Dom._

As she reluctantly tore through the glossy casing, Dominique dissolved into disbelieving laughter. She immediately tugged the t-rex pyjama shirt over her head, amazed that he'd remembered, and smiled as a familiar honey scent shrouded her. Only when she glimpsed herself smiling goofily in the dormitory mirror did she bite her lip and grimace at her own creepiness.

On the other hand, Dominique didn't really understand what she'd done to make everyone think she was as obsessed with sugar quills as they evidently did – after unsealing Cho's box she now had a supply to last several lifetimes. Not that she wasn't grateful, in fact she currently had one balanced between her lips thermometer style as she slugged towards the library to grab the next few titles on Dumbledore's list.

Leanne would've been proud if she could see her slaving away. Louis would've been prouder.

The former would be returning to Hogwarts in a few days' time and, as it happened, Dominique was currently celebrating history's most uneventful New Years' Eve in anticipation. Despite the date, the suits of armour lining the halls continued to merrily sing Christmas carols and Dominique relished in the racket interrupting the castle's profound and, frankly disturbing, silence. As she passed, a helmet hiccupped on a high note and Dominique giggled, the disappointed groans of its compatriots fading as she ducked through the library threshold.

Her fingertips ghosted over the dusty spines of the tomes in the library's backmost shelves. Scanning the strange, obscure titles her hand hovered over a promising volume she was stunned she hadn't spotted earlier called 'Displacement Theories: Getting Back to When You Came From.'

A pointed cough sounded suddenly and Dominique's hand flew backwards as though it had been scorched by the books brittle spine. She whirled round, flailing under the questioning scrutiny of Hermione Granger, whose inclined head was twisting from Dominique to the flagrantly swinging 'TIME' sign dangling from the utmost shelf.

Dominique's sweaty palms curled to anxious fists. _Why is it always the library? Damn you Dewey Decimal System!_

The gears churning in her skull practically audible, her mind raced until her attention landed on the title of the topmost book of the pile Hermione had perched on her hip like a parchment-y toddler. Rule One of the Weasley Handbook: when cornered start spouting rubbish.

"Hippogriffs, interesting stuff."

Miraculously it worked. Hermione emitted a taxed sigh. "I'm trying to help Hagrid – er, Professor Hagrid, I mean – with, well, something Hippogriff related."

"And your usual posy?" Dominique joked, guessing from her aunt's evasive account that certain illicit shenanigans were occurring and thus inferring that naturally Harry and Ron would be knee deep in said shenanigans.

Hermione's expression flickered as though she'd swallowed a lemon and Dominique second-guessed her words, hoping that her aunt wasn't about to cry until she rapidly composed herself. "They're not around."

 _Right, I forgot you were a politician._

Silence settled and Dominique shifted uncomfortably under Hermione's scrutiny.

She made a noncommittal noise. "Well, uh, I'd better go," Dominique started awkwardly. Hermione nodded glumly as Dominque hasted away, only to dart behind a shadowy bookshelf once her aunt glanced away. When Hermione finally wandered off Dominique doubled back and snatched the book she'd been browsing from the shelf. Tucking the ancient volume under her jacket, she swept out of the library and peered around to make sure neither Hermione nor the vulture-like Madame Pince was lurking behind a row of books, waiting to attack as she sauntered out.

Katie's warnings about ending up on the naughty list sounded in her memory and she double-checked over her shoulder that Pince wasn't barrelling down the hall after her multiple times on her way back to the Common Room.

Collapsing into an armchair, Dominique was admittedly sceptical as she flipped through the book's age stained index. Her eyes landed on a chapter titled 'The Three Fundamental Theories.' That seemed like a good place to start.

 _ **Time travel is a long studied tradition among Wizard kind, captivating our history's greatest minds since seemingly the dawn of magic. It is surprising then that so little is known about this most mysterious of magical crafts and as such we, the authors, must advise ardently against novice experimentation; the dangers of time-travel are extraordinary and time, from what we understand, is a fragile notion. This is our warning to you, the reader.**_

Dominique scowled at the page. Nothing new there. She turned it slowly as a log slipped and crackled in the fireplace across from her, sending small sparks flying in the hearth. The deep, smoky smell wafted into the air.

 _ **There is however, one aspect of time travel that most time theoreticians can agree on: the Three Theories. These models encapsulate the most commonly accepted principles of time travel, simultaneously contradictory and complimentary, it must be understood that they do not exist as mutually exclusive schemes. Rather, it is this complexity that binds them together. Given the nonexistence of a vehicle allowing such extreme journeys in time as described by the Three Theories, all three remain unproven and are, for the most part, educated conjecture. They are as follows.**_

 _ **Frindock's Fixed Timeline:**_

 _ **Twelfth Century wizard Arthur Frindock provided the earliest theory on the subject of time-travel. His research hypothesised the existence of a non-conditional universe in which all events remain fixed at a certain point in time. Consequentially, one who travels through time was predestined to do so and, as such, their actions cannot in any way effect the passage of time and the events that unfold within it; rather, these actions will have already become part of history and will, eventually, lead them to the point that resulted in their initial travel through time. Frindock's Fixed Timeline presents time as an unyielding, circular vehicle.**_

Dominique's heartrate quickened as she scanned the page, a sense of hope ballooning within her. This was the best possible outcome - it essentially vindicated her from any wrongdoing and ensured that no matter how badly she screwed with the past, the future wouldn't be affected. As she re-read the words she prayed to God that Frindock was onto something. She was tempted to snap the book closed and refuse to read the remaining two theories, ignorance being bliss and all, but after a brief hesitation she steeled herself and let her gaze drop to the next section.

 _ **Multiverse Model:**_

 _ **The Multiverse Model first gained traction in the late 1700s when the short lived trend of 'Minute-Switches' entered fashion. Given the Minute-Switches' focus on immediate time reversal, most commonly to alter the occurrence of minor social faux pas that one wished they could retract, the notion that a new, identical parallel universe was created with each journey through time was both alarming and comforting for those with poor social skills. This theory posits that due to the creation of an infinite number of universes, no true past nor future exists, surviving only in the memory of the time traveller as they traverse through multiple universes all inherently moored in the present. As a result, given the absence of relational linear time within this model, the traveller's actions cannot effect the past or future of those new universes they enter, having permanently left their original one behind, and can therefore enjoy a considerable amount of impunity.**_

Impunity she liked the sound of. 'Having permanently left their original one behind' she didn't. Dominique's brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the implications. It _sounded_ like she could return to _a_ future essentially identical to the one she abandoned…but not quite the same. Which also implied that there were an infinite number of Dominiques running around in the various universes she'd created. She gulped at the thought of an evil clone coming to wreak vengeance upon her for ruining their universe and chewed her lip, hoping that this wasn't the correct theory. Dominique tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear and turned the worn page to the final theory.

 _ **Dynamic Interaction Theory **_

_**Perhaps the most damning of theories for those caught in time, Dynamic Interaction Theory proposes that one's actions in the past have a definite impact on the future, potentially resulting in critical change, including the gruesome phenomenon of un-birthing. Unlike Frindock's Fixed Timeline and the Multiverse Model, the Dynamic Interaction Theory suggests than one central universe exists and it is unconditionally relational in nature – the past effects the future and the traveller inherently effects the past by presence alone. Experimentation with traditional time-turners (those with a five hour maximum reach) supports this theory most strongly as seen through the minor Ministry-authorised changes documented by those few with access to such instruments. Dynamic Interaction Theory was first hypothesised by time theorist A.C. Rimbaud.**_

Dominique's shaking fingers travelled to the name finishing the paragraph and her mouth dropped slightly. This was it. This was the one.

Rimbaud's time-turner and Rimbaud's theory. And Dominique was screwed.

'The traveller inherently effects the past by presence alone.'

How much had she already changed, already _destroyed_ by being here?

She pressed a hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples, attempting to sort through her chaotic thoughts. If Dominique was to return to the future – _her_ future – any potential changes she'd made in the past needed to be rectified. It was her duty to watch the events unfurl the way fate intended and not intervene in order to protect herself, her family and the future. About to snap the book closed, Dominique performed a short double-take on catching sight of a small side-note written underneath the paragraph she'd just read.

 _ **The Recognition Clause:**_

 _ **In considering the effect the traveller has on the future, one must consider their place within time itself. According to these theories, travellers who journey across stretches larger than a certain period, most commonly thought to be a decade, transcend recognition and rather act as transient beings. Both in the past and the future, those they know from the present are expected not to recognise them – existing outside the confines of memory. Further, once the traveller returns to their original time (or 'present') it is expected (although not confirmed) that they will re-enter the memories of those they know strictly in the present – their temporary existence in the past or future will be forgotten. Accordingly, all actions undertaken in the past or future will retain effect, but the person responsible will fade from memory.**_

 _ **Prominent academic Kenji Nakumura described this as 'The Recognition Clause' and utilised the interaction of child and parent to describe it. If a child were to travel fifteen years into the future (five years over the decade recognition cut-off) to visit their parents, these aged parents from the future would not recognise them. Further, if they were to do the reverse and travel fifteen years into the past, these younger parents from the past would have no memory of them. Again, it is hoped that on return to their original timeline, typical recognition would be achieved.**_

 _ **Importantly, it is unknown what would happen if one was to run into their future or past selves beyond the ten year buffer. It can, however, be assumed the results would be disastrous.**_

She frantically stumbled over the math in her head – 2017 minus 1993 was…24 years. Well over the safe decade barrier. Did that mean her family had forgotten her? Dominique's stomach revolted and she clutched the armchair for support as blood rushed at dizzying speed to her head. She thought she might be sick. Her eyes starting stinging and she angrily rubbed at them to prevent any tears betraying the terror coursing through her.

She had to get back. Soon. Especially if this 'running into yourself' thing was as dangerous as it seemed. Panic continued to bubble in Dominique's chest and her breath ran ragged. Her sight blurred at the edges.

She had to escape the past before she was born in 2003, hopefully a considerable stretch of time beforehand. In the meantime, if she was trapped here as the war raged she'd have to sit by and watch as it all unravelled around her, not able to do anything in case she accidentally destroyed the future. She'd have to watch people she cared about suffer – people she cared about _die._

The clock on the wall chimed loudly through Dominique's horror and her eyes snapped to the thin black hands pointed directly northwards. She bit down hard on her wobbling lower lip and watched her trembling fingers. Her broken voice was thick with the onslaught of hysterical sobs that were about to rake through her body.

"Happy New Year, Dom."


	9. Stoned

**Stoned**

1994 promised to be a forlorn year.

A grim profoundness blanketed the castle halls despite the influx of students returning aboard the Hogwarts Express several days after Dominique discovered the volatility of her situation; if anything, her friends' return darkened the shadow. Isolated and guilty, the harsh blizzard pounding snow against Hogwarts' windows trapped her amongst the people she was so desperately trying to distance herself from.

The stiffness was palpable. Dominique waited out the morning of their return in the depths of the school library, the last place anyone would search, until curfew hit and Madam Pince tossed her to the curb. Leanne embraced her in a near strangle-hold the moment she crossed the dormitory threshold but Dominique could only weakly return the hug, answering Leanne's probing questions about holidays at the castle with unenthusiastic, one-syllable responses.

"What's going on with you?" Leanne questioned whilst unpacking her trunk and Dominique glanced up at her frowning face.

She shrugged. "Just tired, I guess."

Dominique's distance only increased as Leanne gushed over a cute muggle boy she'd flirted with at her cousins' Christmas party and instead of piling her with nosy questions as teenage girl protocol required Dominique retired to bed. Climbing onto the mattress, she almost tripped over the school trunk resting at the base where her Christmas presents, buried at the bottom under piles of second-hand clothes, lay concealed like a corpse. She wrapped the four-poster's heavy curtains around herself like a titanium shield, not missing the flash of hurt passing across Leanne's face before the musty fabric divided them.

Leanne, it eventuated, was so affronted by her friend's aloof welcome that she ceased contact altogether. The following morning was Dominque's worst in the past, more painful by far than her first. Instead of acting as her guardian angel, this time around Leanne whiled away the hours scowling at Dominique as though she'd murdered her puppy, much to the discomfort of their remaining two roommates, Anna and Tabitha.

Katie and Mike reacted to Dominique's self-imposed isolation with more confusion than resentment; three days into term she overheard a whispered debate outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom about whether she was suffering from delayed split-personality disorder or an aggravated form of PMS. Days passed and her friends' enquiries into her sudden character change waned until, eventually, they stopped altogether.

Dominique suffered like Atlas, the weight of the universe on her shoulders with seemingly nobody to unload the burden. Without her friends there was nowhere to vent; Dumbledore was conspicuously absent from the castle with what she suspected was time-turner related business, and the house-elves Binky and Tippy couldn't offer much emotional support outside of loading her arms with ridiculous amounts of chocolate cake.

Nevertheless, time, as cruel as it was, didn't wait for Dominique to recover and continued to spin onwards. Leanne's increasingly obvious bitterness grew to the point that Dominique started avoiding their shared dormitory like Snape avoided shampoo. In accordance with this anti-dormitory perimeter her main port of call became the library of all places and after countless hours of simply sitting there, staring out onto the frozen wasteland the Hogwarts grounds now resembled, she did the unexpected.

Dominique started studying purely out of mind-numbing boredom.

At first her brain impassively scanned over the words of her Charms Textbook, a dull inner-monologue reading the sentences aloud in her head, but slowly she found herself actually absorbing the words. James would've fainted at the sight of her now dog-eared school books, perused through for hours on end in attempts to distract herself and ward off all forms of human contact. For Dominique Weasley, who would usually rather chew glass than spend extended amounts of time willingly revising, it was a strange experience.

It was an odd turn of events for those who knew Samantha James too. Outside of the noticeable improvement of her grades it caused unspoken concern; Dominique didn't miss the frequent and conflicted glances her Professor's threw her way, most likely wondering why she, who was consistently reprimanded for chatting her way through classes in the back row, had spontaneously transformed into a model student. Although _they_ didn't openly comment there was one particular nuisance who made their discomfort on the matter known.

Oliver Wood was put-off by Dominique's unfamiliar passivity. This much became apparent the day he discovered that his Seeker had simultaneously come into _and_ lost possession of a Firebolt within a twenty-four hour period. Shooting her filthy glares as though Dominique were personally responsible for McGonagall's concerns about Harry's safety, he appeared thrown when she failed to snap back with the vindictiveness that was their established custom.

"Well if you're actually going to start listening to me now then there's a book you should check out of the library…" He snarked during one of the first tutoring sessions of the year. Dominique shrugged, attention focused on the wriggling hedgehog she was supposed to be transfiguring into a pincushion. Wood watched for a moment before grumbling something under his breath before stalking away "Bloody zombie…"

Afterwards she headed towards the library, faltering upon a conversation she really didn't want to hear. She was climbing the lowermost steps of a winding tower staircase when two familiar voices carried down the circular turret. Dominique paused and frowned.

"Sprout asked me what was wrong with her _again_ today! Are you telling me you're not annoyed by all this?" an exasperated voice demanded.

"Come on, Leanne, she's just…homesick, I guess."

Somebody groaned in annoyance and Dominique's grip tightened around the stairwell railing. "So she should talk to us about it, not freeze us out! What does she expect to happen? It's not like she can go home!"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask _her_?" the second suggested.

"Katie, I'm not speaking to her again until she apologises for acting like such a nutter-"

Dominique's steps were loud and deliberate as she stomped upwards, ensuring that her approach was audible several floors above and below. Flushed face contorted in anger, she was flooded with bitter satisfaction when the colour drained from Leanne's features as her friend realised just who was climbing the stairs. She elbowed past them wordlessly, not noticing Leanne's face flicker with something resembling remorse as she stormed away.

Shit _really_ hit the fan the day Dominique attempted to resign as Hufflepuff Chaser. Considering that Dumbledore himself had warned against her involvement, she justified it as following through on his advice…albeit delayed. In any case, Sprout's unimpressed monologue about "commitment" and "fortitude" was unpleasant to endure, but nowhere near as excruciating as the thought of abandoning Quidditch until she could return to the future – something which she was growing increasingly restless for as each day passed.

Ultimately, Sprout resolved that it was the Captain's decision, which naturally filled Dominique with a sense of dread similar to the cold breath of death. That conversation was quite literally the _last_ exchange she wanted to experience, largely due to the overwhelming guilt that threatened to crush her whenever she was in Cedric's general vicinity. A spot of tea with Voldemort was more inviting at this point.

Dominique knew that in giving up on changing the past, she had given up on saving Cedric Diggory. And in that knowledge she could barely stomach the sight of him, physically revolted not with him but with herself. Self-loathing, she quickly discovered, was a powerful thing. Cedric himself clearly perceived her evasiveness but after initially pulling her aside after training to ask if there was anything he could do he let the matter drop. She suspected that this lenience was in part due to what had transpired on the frozen Black Lake before Christmas, guessing that he chalked it up to acute homesickness. In a way he wasn't wrong.

Overall, Dominique mastered the art of avoidance so successfully that she mistakenly believed she could sustain it until the time-turner was repaired. That illusion was shattered one evening when the January storm idled enough for the howling blizzard to transform into a mere whisper; unbeknownst to her, that morning Sprout had informed Cedric of Dominique's intentions to abandon the Hufflepuff team.

Curfew was about to fall and Dominique shrugged deeper into her cloak, glancing at her wristwatch as she traversed the path to the Hufflepuff basement. She initially pretended she couldn't hear him calling her name but as his footsteps sounded closer she huffed and reluctantly slowed. "Sam, I've been looking all over for you!" Cedric half-laughed, sobering as Dominique's withdrawn expression didn't soften. "Can I talk to you?"

"Don't you have patrols or something?" She dimly prayed she didn't sound too hopeful.

"They can wait a moment," he said resolutely. Dominique shifted on the spot as Cedric checked a closed door on his right, poking his head into the abandoned classroom before holding the door ajar for her to enter. She quietly calculated her chances of making a break for it and stood, fiddling with her satchel strap whilst he waited. It was Cedric's pleading air that finally prompted her to sigh and tread into the classroom against her better judgement.

Moonlight poured through the blue stained glass windows and beamed the space in odd indigo light. The door clicked shut and Dominique folded her arms across her chest without turning. "So what's up, Cap?"

He didn't move from his position by the door and Dominique wondered if it was a measure to prevent her premature escape. "You're still calling me that?" Cedric asked. "I thought you wanted to leave the team."

Dominique didn't miss a beat, nor did she miss the disappointed edge in his words. "Alright, let me rephrase. What's up, _ex_ -Cap?"

"Sammy," Cedric sighed. "What's going on with you – I don't mean about Quidditch."

Dominque barely repressed a groan as she swivelled round, meeting his solemn stance. " _I'm fine_ ," she stressed, as though it hadn't become her mantra of late. Apparently repetition did not aid it seeping into people's skulls.

"No you're not," Cedric said stubbornly.

Dominique's chin jutted up in quiet defiance. "Isn't that for _me_ to decide?"

"Why are you cutting yourself off? I'm not the only one who's worried about it -"

"Been chatting with Leanne then have you, Ced?" Dominique snapped, almost annoyed when he didn't flinch.

Cedric rubbed a hand along his jaw, raising the other in a protest of innocence. "No, I'm just…you haven't been yourself." Dominique scoffed, almost snickering at the implication. It was irony at its cruellest - he didn't know her at all - nobody there did. His hand travelled to the nape of his neck and he appeared to struggle for the right words whilst she seethed. "Is this…Is this about what you told me before Christmas – about your sis-"

 _"Don't."_ Dominique's voice cut sharp like flint through the air, stopping him mid-sentence. She didn't want to hear the words, to be reminded of how stupidly she had acted. To know that this was her fault and to be reminded yet again of why exactly she had to distance herself.

The strained silence that followed was rustled only by the sound of their breathing. It continued as Cedric's eyes darted across Dominique's face, as though searching for something. Lines creased his forehead into a frown when he found the answer. "I'm refusing your resignation," he finally said, using what Dominique called his 'Captain tone.'

In her frustration it took her a minute to cotton on to what it was he was alluding to. Once she remembered she took an incensed step forward, ready to curse her way out of there if needed. "Why!" she demanded. If Cedric thought he could call upon her sense of _team-spirit_ like Sprout had tried to he was seriously deluding himself. She'd had enough. Dominique started pacing, the words flying from her mouth so quickly that she wasn't sure he would be able to understand them. "It's not your choice how I spend my time, Ced! What if I'm sick of Quidditch! What if I'm sick of this place and I'm sick of everyone and I'm sick of everything! I don't want to do this anymore and that has nothing to do with you! Why does it even matter to you if I -"

"Because I care about you, Sam!"

Cedric's exclamation wasn't bellowed or harsh, but loaded and jarring like a whip crack. It stunned Dominique mid-step and she slowly turned, the waspish words on her lips remaining unspoken. He was watching her with a vulnerable mix of honesty and exasperation, waiting for her reaction. "I care about you," he repeated, softer this time.

Dominique's mask slipped an inch but she quickly readjusted it. They were straying into dangerous territory...territory which she had worked ardently to avoid this past month. It wasn't what she wanted to do, but right now she couldn't afford to play nicely. Piercing him with a look of hazel ice, she stalked forward and pushed past Cedric. "Don't bother, she hissed. Slamming the classroom door behind her with a bang that shook dust from the roof, Dominique tore through the corridors, cursing the whole way that the world she was trying to preserve seemed to be working against her.

Later, as midnight enshrouded the castle, she lay awake, staring at cracks in the ceiling and stewing in an odd sense of regret she knew didn't make much sense in the grand scheme of things. With an acidic taste in her mouth, she rolled over and buried her head into her pillow, narrowly resisting the urge to scream into it. Dominique didn't want to hurt people, least of all Cedric. She didn't want to hear him, someone she couldn't save talk about her family, the people she was trying to protect. She had allowed herself to get far closer to him than any person in their right mind knowing what she did would allow.

And she was paying for it now.

Eventually, consciousness faded into a restless sleep in the early morning hours. Somewhere amongst the tangle of limbs in twisted sheets as she tossed and turned, Dominque darted upright amidst vivid dreams of fountains and hummingbirds, breathing heavily and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. A familiar voice in her dreams, already waning from memory, had just reminded her that the somewhere in the castle her place of refuge was ready and waiting.

* * *

 _Open up._

Dominique stared at the cracked stretch of stone with air-crackling intensity, teeth grinding together when no visible fissures rippled the stone. She resumed pacing, crossing the wall twice more.

 _Please, open up._

Nothing happened and her eyes narrowed to slits. The ancient stone remained infuriatingly solid and Dominique threw her hands up in exasperation. "Open up or I'm going to start throwing punches," she growled.

After near a fortnight of searching for the Room of Requirement, Dominique was convinced that the castle was mocking her. It was the Moby-Dick to her Ahab, the Moriarty to her Sherlock, the Roadrunner to her Coyote. In all fairness though, her hints regarding the rooms' location were few are far between.

She was warned – well technically _James_ was warned and Dominique included by association – that it was a "charred out husk" on the Seventh Floor that she was to search for "under no circumstances." Which naturally, James being a Potter and all, was their immediate intention. But as months progressed and no progress was made their plans for the Room of Requirement were forgotten in place of more immediate mischief – a decision which Dominique was seriously beginning to regret.

Stranger still than the room's evasiveness was that Dominique couldn't recall what prompted her to remember its existence, unburnt and architecturally solid in the past. Regardless, she was desperate enough for a haven outside of the library that she didn't question the impulse. The Hufflepuff dormitory didn't appear to be mellowing any time soon and Dominique thought that she might just develop radiation poisoning from Leanne's incredibly unsubtle laser glare if things kept up.

Unfortunately, the corridor in question was far lengthier than she remembered after three years of living along it in the Gryffindor Common Room which only made the task at hand more difficult. Given Dominique's lack of intel, her search essentially involved pacing along bare stretches of stone and begging the wall to make way. Last night she'd scoured the stretch by the Boys Lavatory and the day earlier was the stained patch close by the stairs. She was very close to just bombarda-ing the whole bloody structure.

But determination was more useful than desperation and so the Seventh Floor remained intact.

With steeled reserve Dominique turned back to the wall, which somehow appeared more solid than it ever had. Her huff was drowned out by the resounding crash of a slamming door further down the corridor and she sprang backwards, leaning against the opposite wall with as much feigned casualness that a lone Hufflepuff loitering around the Seventh Floor minutes after last period could muster.

Seconds later, Dominique's muscles relaxed at the approaching sight as Derek the First Year from the disastrous Christmas Feast waddled closer. He shoved a roll of parchment in her grasp, squeaked and bolted away into the sunset. Since break Dominique had learned that he was some sort of human owl messenger, darting around the school like a mousy postman but the kid had yet to say a word to her despite the dozens of notes he'd delivered and Dominique was starting to suspect he was mute.

"I hope they're giving you some sort of compensation, Derek," she muttered after his fleeing figure. Her unimpressed gaze travelled to the scroll, knowing that she could recite the message word-for-word before unrolling it because it never altered; only the times changed.

Wood, like the absolute madman he was, had increased the Gryffindor training schedule to five times a week. If Dominique were speaking to Katie she would've demanded to know what roids he was crushing into their morning cereal but, either way, Wood's insane schedule meant that Transfiguration tutoring was fit into whatever minimal timetable gaps he had and Dominique received more rescheduling notes than she cared to count.

Quidditch Captains were really getting on her nerves these days.

A twinge of annoyance sparked at her as she skimmed the parchment with the realisation that Wood had rescheduled tutoring to right that minute. She tossed the message into her satchel and readjusted the strap before squaring up against the wall. _I'm not through with you_ , she silently promised, resisting the urge to shake her fist at it. Heading towards the Transfiguration Classroom, it only faintly occurred to her that talking to inanimate objects was an activity usually reserved for crazy people, like Luna Lovegood and the school carriages.

Dominique's strides slowed to cautious steps as she crossed the courtyard. Wood was leaning against the closed classroom doors, seemingly bored as he tossed a saggy brown lump into the air, higher and faster before catching it with lighting fast Keeper reflexes. It was a confounding variation from his usual station glowering by McGonagall's desk. Dominique's grip tightened around her bag strap and she quickly scanned the area for any sign of an oncoming assault.

Wood finally glanced up, the smirk playing at his lips suggesting that he noticed her apprehension. "You're constant tardiness isn't ever going to improve is it?" he drawled, pushing off the door frame.

"Bit late notice, don't you think, Wood? What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously and Wood's smirk only widened in response.

"Waiting," he shrugged.

Dominique chanced a step closer. "What's that?" she tried again, unease drowning her voice as she inclined her head towards what appeared to be the deflated, leather pumpkin in his grip.

"This," Wood said, closing the distance and pressing something into her hands, "is my legal protection." Without further explanation he turned and sauntered off in the direction of the grounds, leaving Dominique to frown down at the battered old Keeper's helmet. She turned the rough material over in her hands and Wood's voice echoed back. "Haven't got all night, James!"

Dominique rolled her eyes and stuffed the helmet into her satchel, muttering under her breath as she strode after him. "What are you going to do, stone me?"

* * *

" _I didn't mean literally!"_

"Get your wand out, James. As much as it'd entertain me I don't particularly fancy explaining to McGonagall why you've fractured your skull."

"No, seriously. _Are you mental?"_

Wood cocked a thick brow and folded his arms across his chest."You're the one who wanted a "crash course"," he shrugged. "I don't think it gets much more crash course than this."

He returned to his task and Dominique blanched at the smug gait of his walk, unsure if his self-assurance was due to the fact that he genuinely thought this was a well-conceived idea or that he'd found an appropriate excuse to toss hefty, potentially fatal objects at her.

Wood was currently in the process of transfiguring a smattering of tiny pebbles he'd brought with him into enormous, bone-crunching boulders. They stood in an imposing line opposite Dominique on the Quidditch pitch as a small platoon, dotted in patches of melted snow like hot marbles. The shadow of the raw morning formed itself in the icy dew coating the naked patches of grass and Dominique was sure that the coldness would've seeped through the worn soles of her shoes, thinned almost bare from the miles of stone she'd paced along the Seventh Floor, if her attention wasn't frozen in disbelief at the sight facing her.

The Keeper's helmet flailing limply in Dominique's hands would be about as helpful as a concrete parachute. She tossed it aside and propped her hands on her hips, calling to Wood at the opposite end of the pitch where the boulder line divided them. " _You_ may be a moron, Wood, but I'm not about to play human bowling! You'll get us both killed!"

"Only if you're too slow!" he yelled back, reaching for his wand. Part of Dominique wondered if his pre-match pep talks were this encouraging but the majority of her focus was caught on the threat colouring his tone at his next words. "Remember – if you hurt my pitch I will hurt you. Ready?"

"No!" she called back weakly. Dominique scrutinized the boulders and restrained her twitching fingers from snatching her wand, safely stored in her pocket. "Forget it, Wood! I'm not doing it!" She turned to retreat into the locker rooms, swallowing when Wood lazily aimed his wand at the nearest rock in her peripheral vision.

"Well, James, that's rather unfortunate, because these are coming your way regardless!"

Dominique didn't turn and resisted her instinctual drive to draw her wand. _After all, Wood wouldn't dare –_

She barely dove out of the way in time, the boulder coming so close that the coarse surface grazed the hairs standing on end along her right arm. Dominique rolled onto a downy patch of snow that the burgeoning winter sun hadn't melted, the white powder clinging to her jacket as she pushed herself up with trembling hands. Shock was replaced with white hot rage at the sight of Wood visibly grinning from his position.

Dominique's vision flashed traffic light red and her words exploded across the field. "WOOD, YOU FUC-"

The sound transitioned to a shriek as a second boulder hurtled towards her at break-neck speed but this time she managed to narrowly stay upright as she dodged it. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Wood mocked, taking aim again.

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING THROTTLE YOU WHEN I GET OVER THERE!" Steam practically poured from Dominique's contorted face as she stalked forwards, wand forgotten in her robes. She didn't need it – she'd strangle him with her bare hands.

"Language, James!"

His next boulder was more rocket that rock but it appeared sluggish in comparison to Dominique who was charging at Wood like a Spanish fighting-bull would a matador. Panting and murderous, Dominque was prepared for the next assault. She rolled out of its trajectory and seized her wand. " _Spiculum!"_ she screamed.

The boulder decelerated and morphed in mid-air. Its rugged edges smoothed and a metallic glint clung to its pointed tip as the rock thinned to a spear. As the transfigured object solidified, it gained momentum and surged towards Dominique. "SAM!" Wood's yell rang across the field, clearly thinking she was about to impale herself.

She sucked in a steadying breath. _I think the fuck not._ Dominique's wand-arm sprung up violently and slashed through the air. "Depulso!"

It rerouted itself as though smacked by an invisible beater's bat and pelted at full force towards Wood. The brief flash of pure shock that overtook his features before he hastily transfigured it into a pile of rubble was followed by a disbelieving laugh. Dominique could hear the twang of one of her spear as it imbedded itself in the snow a few metres from him. It stood upright like a javelin until Wood plucked it and hurtled it back to its source. "Excellent, James!" He flung another boulder towards her. "Although you could've been a little more original!"

"Would it be original if I were to strangle you?" Dominique bellowed across the field, hurtling it back at him.

"Well yeah," he called back, following chuckle infuriatingly clear.

As they continued half of Dominique registered that the stress of her recent life had made her into a bit of a psychopath. The other was musing that she did have use of the banishing charm after all and that she'd have to thank Flitwick later after burying lifeless Wood's body. Another boulder travelled towards her that she deflected, nearly missing the oncoming twin set of retaliatory boulders Wood sicked on her. Rocks and spears coursed through every inch of air, the rushing surge creating a vortex that transformed the pitch into a contained meteor field.

Darted behind the cover of a fallen rock, lungs burning and a fierce smile lighting her face, it registered to Dominique that she was in the middle of a rock war with Oliver Wood…and she was enjoying it. Semantically, 'Wood' and 'fun' were two mutually incompatible concepts and the fact that they could co-exist was admittedly shocking.

The raging battle gradually slowed and Wood dissolved the boulders, their missiles decreasing in number as he blasted them to dusty rubble that caught on the wind and danced out of the pitch. Wood dispersed the final chunk of rock and collapsed into the snow, chest heaving and equally as breathless as Dominique who laughed at his display and staggered towards the bottom-most row of stands.

A stitch was throbbing in her side and she was actually sweating underneath multiple layers of clothing but at that moment she was distracted by a rush she hadn't experienced since her first time back on a broom in the past during Quidditch tryouts. Dominique had just stumbled upon a very effective coping mechanism. Resting against the firm railing, she attempted to control her ragged breathing as a shadow joined hers in the white snow. "You're certifiable, you know that?"

"Relax," he wheezed, "I put a cushioning charm on them first. Hooch'd skin me alive if I damaged anything." Wood vaulted over the rail and Dominique followed, half collapsing into the stands.

"Only _you_ could think that this is somehow a good teaching method. What exactly am I supposed to have learnt from that, Professor Wood?"

He braced himself up with his forearm and leant back further, propping his feet up on the railings. "Bottling things up is unhealthy. You need an outlet," Wood replied unabashedly.

Dominique twisted round. "Excuse me?"

Wood straightened and studied Dominique's questioning regard. "Listen, you know as well as I do that something's up with you." She opened her mouth to protest but he spoke over her. "Don't bother denying it, James. I knew something was up when you actually agreed to check out that bloody Transfiguration book. And I heard you tried to resign from Quidditch," he uttered the words as though they were a mortal sin tarnishing his mouth.

"So?" Dominique challenged.

" _Nobody_ quits Quidditch."

He had a point. In the history of Hogwarts the amount of people who'd willingly resigned was extraordinarily low; people killed for positions on their House teams. Dominique chose not to comment on Wood's insight, instead fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater. "Are you still on the team?" he asked.

"I'll have to figure that one out myself pretty soon," she sighed, finally hearing how exhausted she sounded. The thought of facing Cedric after her last display was far from inviting. She wouldn't blame him if he told her to piss off.

Dominique tactfully ignored the scrutinizing gleam in Wood's gaze as he searched her profile, as though probing for cracks. "You have a lot of pent up emotion in there," he pointed out.

She couldn't control the peal of laughter that rang out and she buried her face in her hands, hair spilling across her covered face. Wood was smirking when she emerged and Dominique groaned. "You sound like my bloody therapist."

"What's that?"

"Someone who listens to unstable people's problems."

Wood's crooked smile was half teasing, half earnest. "You need one of those."

"Thanks," Dominique laughed. Mimicking Wood, she placed her boots up on the rails and a comfortable silence fell as her eyes strayed up to the weak, silver-tipped clouds. "Ever wish you could fly?" she asked after a few minutes.

Wood stirred faintly besides her. "We _can_ fly, you numpty."

"Without brooms," she smiled. "Like birds. They can go wherever they want. Leave everything behind," she murmured wistfully. The air grew colder and the clouds darkened as Wood considered, forewarning the dusk that afternoon was about fade into.

"Sometimes if you fly…try to leave, then you can't come back," he finally said. Dominique could certainly attest to that. "Maybe it's just best to try and sort out whatever's going on where you are."

Dominique mulled over his advice…to sort out what was going on here. Was that possible? To stay and continue on with the confirmed knowledge that her presence would inevitably change the future?

She would be lying in saying that, subconsciously at least, she hadn't contemplated leaving. Most days Dominique fought the urge to race into Dumbledore's office, scream that she couldn't do this anymore mid-hysterical breakdown and venture off into the world alone until the time-turner was repaired. The Room of Requirement had provided a temporary alternative in not leaving, but hiding.

Suddenly both routes, bunkering in a potentially made-up location for an unspecified period of time or trying to survive outside of Hogwarts, a lone almost fifteen-year-old trapped in the muggle nineties, seemed incredibly foolish. A single option remained, the path painful and hazardous but obvious nonetheless.

She alone had disturbed the timeline and she alone was aware that it was endangered – outside of Dumbledore of course who refused point blank to acknowledge her tidings of the future. Dominique was staring through the past in a two-way mirror that was only shattered on her side. It was her responsibility to stay and right the wrongs she'd committed, to watch fate unfold as it was intended.

She owed as much to the reality she'd put in so much danger.

"Sam, you're not going are you?"

Dominique's head snapped up at Wood's tentative question and she gently shook her head. "No, I'm not going anywhere." The fact that she had nowhere to go was left unsaid. "You really should become a therapist," she joked after a few quiet seconds. "Write a few self-help books."

A single crack of disbelieving laughter burst from him. "That's a stark turnaround from _"Wood, you're a Quidditch obsessed nutter, all you do is frown and complain about my wand-hold even when I'm clearly trying to help you!"_ ," he mimicked in a surprisingly accurate impression of Dominique.

She couldn't maintain her scowl, lips tugging upwards against her will, and settled for rolling her eyes. "You make me sound like such an entitled brat." He gave her a purposeful look and Dominique scoffed affrontedly, elbowing his ribs. "Well gits like you bring out the worst in me."

"I'm not all bad," Wood chuckled.

"That's true," Dominique reasoned. "You did think of an excuse to let us throw rocks around the place which was…wait a minute…" she paused, realisation dawning. "Was this all to cheer me up?"

Wood's tone turned slightly defensive but Dominique didn't miss the barely visible blush on his cheeks as he turned towards the pitch. "You're no fun when you're all mopey. In fact you're like a bloody inferi and - _stop smirking at me_."

"I knew you enjoyed fighting with me! Actually that's a little masochistic, Wood. Maybe you're the one who needs a therapist," she teased.

"Shut up, James," Wood grumbled but Dominique could still discern the hint of a smile as he rose.

Travelling back to the castle, she glanced sideways at the grounds. The Black Lake loomed like a spectre; a great crater had formed in its centre where the frozen surface had collapsed in on itself. Dominique tried to shake off the way it followed her, like a deep, icy pupil trained on her back as she walked beside Wood.

* * *

 **AN: In the immortal words of Mushu,"I LIIIIIIVVVEE!"**

 **Kids, trust me when I say to invest in some sort of internet access if your friends ever decide to kidnap you for an impromptu road trip. I really do love reading reviews for this story and as for the time-travel theories they are actually the three main theories of time-travel IRL with fictional names that are more appropriate for Dominique's story.**

 **Keep on keeping on.**


	10. Damned if You Do, Damned if You Don't

**Damned if You Do, Damned if You Don't**

Drifting from the curtains draped over the chamber's large rounded windows, the Study Hall was bathed in the distinctive scent of fresh parchment and musky fabric. The afternoon's orange light that shone through the drizzling sun-shower, staining the once dry castle walls outside as a precursor to the oncoming spring, didn't manage to creep through the heavy curtains and thus the room was kept dark. Only the sounds of scratching quills and an intake of breath could be heard inside as Dominique pressed flat against a supporting pillar, skin brushing against stone as she sneakily peered around the hall.

An effervescent collection of turquoise globes lured her gaze to the room's far corner where, surely enough, surrounded in the centre as though she were their sun, Leanne sat studying. Her forehead was creased in concentration and her nose was almost lost in the moulding pages of an encyclopaedia of the Goblin Rebellions as she squinted down at the dusty tome.

Swallowing heavily, Dominique attempted to locate her inner nirvana and slinked from her concealed position, marching forward, determined to bury the past month. Leanne glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

 _Nope, nope, nope. Not today. Nope._

It took a single glimpse of her steely glare for Dominique to choke on her pre-rehearsed speech, swivel-mid march and hastily stroll in the opposite direction. Scuttling out of the Study Hall to re-strategize, she asked herself when exactly her Gryffindor courage had disappeared and, perhaps more pressingly, how long peace negotiations were going to take. _If I can't get the sodding words out they'll never forgive me_ , she mentally answered herself. _And then all I'll have is Wood for company. Oh the horror…_

But as much as she berated him, it was Oliver Wood's advice that'd stirred Dominique's epiphany. If she was destined to remain at Hogwarts until the time-turner was restored than she couldn't do so in total isolation. She'd go barmy. Well… _barmier_.

Regardless of her prospective sanity, it was glaringly apparent that she had some serious damage control ahead of her. Leanne, it appeared, wouldn't be embracing the platitudinal policy of 'forgive and forget' but instead had a strategy of 'resent and remember.' Dominique suspected that Leanne wouldn't be satisfied until she physically begged for forgiveness, allowing her to extract a metaphorical pound of flesh, and had therefor put that particular project on the back-burner.

There was an upside to Dominique's companionless limbo, however. Whilst trying to reconnect with the people she'd snubbed, she found herself observing the Hogwarts population and quickly realising just how blissfully oblivious it was. It was frankly astounding that _nobody_ remarked upon the miraculous weakening of Professor Lupin's immune system each full moon, or that Aunt Hermione wandered around in multiple places at once, or that Uncle Harry spent abnormal amounts of time ogling a blank piece of parchment, consequently solving the mystery of the Marauders Map's whereabouts. Dominique was so enraptured in this game of Hogwarts safari that she forgot about the task at hand until break one afternoon when she spotted Mike walking up from the Greenhouses alone.

Acting on the spur of the moment (and a quiet hope that he was too lazy to hold a grudge), she followed, managing to corner him outside the Clock Tower courtyard. Although initially appearing confused when she called his name, going so far as to check over his shoulder, Mike's face wasn't contorted into a Gorgon-esque glower as Leanne's permanently seemed to be these days. Flashing him an uncertain smile, Dominique allowed the monotonous swish of the colossal clock's pendulum to calm her as she launched into an apology.

She was barely two sentences in though when Mike slung an arm over her shoulder and told her to quit being such a sap, grinning widely as though the past month hadn't occurred. Neither person was prepared for the sudden onslaught of emotions that barrelled over Dominique. Mike's relaxed expression quickly shifted into one of alarm when she nearly burst into tears, bottom lip wobbling as she threw her arms around his neck and promised to annoy him with her presence for the foreseeable future. After convincing him that she wasn't hyperventilating, and probably confirming his PMS theory in the process, Dominique ducked into the girl's lavatory to compose herself before classes resumed, knowing that she resembled someone who'd just rubbed jalapeños along their waterline.

Pushing past the bathroom door she was met with the dull hum of a whispered conversation. At the audible quieting of both voices upon her intrusion, she moved towards a vacant sink protruding from the opposite ivory tiled wall, shooting both Marietta and Cho tentative smiles on the way. Marietta, evidently, didn't possess the patience to wait for Dominique's departure before resuming their pressing discussion. "Look, he fancies you, Cho, I can tell! So if Cedric fancies you and you clearly fancy him, what's so hard?"

Dominique stiffened and tried to drown out Marietta's grating whisper with the water gushing from the faucet into the porcelain basin. This was not a conversation she wished to be privy to – Cedric was her…Captain, after all. Exhaling quietly, she smoothed her features so she wouldn't be accused of eavesdropping.

Whilst Marietta continued whining, Dominique caught sight of Cho gently inclining her head Dominique's way in the reflection of the chipped mirror hanging above the sink. "I don't know…maybe we should talk about this somewhere private," she suggested softly. Dominique, who personally thought that was a _brilliant_ idea, cupped her hands beneath the faucet flow and splashed cool water across her ruddy cheeks.

"Oh, who cares if she knows, it's none of her business anyway," Marietta muttered.

But in a perverse sense it was exactly Dominique's business. If Cedric and Cho got together it would secure an integral part of the timeline and consequently help stabilise the universe. Now that the thought occurred, Dominique realised that it was probably a course of action that she _should_ be encouraging. However for some reason the idea left an unappealing, bitter taste in her mouth that she couldn't quite rationalise. Perhaps it was that the relationship was doomed to end in tragedy. Maybe it was cruel to set Cho up for such heartbreak.

"Well, I just wish _he'd_ ask _me_ ," Cho admitted, sounding disheartened at Cedric's lack of grandiose romantic gestures. Dominique pursed her lips. _What did she think this was, an eighties movie?_

Instead of advising Cho to drastically lower her expectations, Dominique's attention shifted to her impassive reflection. The harsh, yellow beam of flickering light above gave her now shoulder-length hair a waxen quality as she ran a hand through it. She was thankful at least that her eyes weren't puffy and thought maybe the hazel distracted from her slightly aggravated whites. Back when her irises were blue - a bright, Delacour azure that she shared with Victoire, Louis and her mother - it was easy to see when she'd been crying. But now they, like her hair, were coated in a veiling layer of brown. At least her Weasley freckles remained.

Scrutinising her face, Dominique felt like a warped puzzle of people. It was deeper than simply dividing things into Dominique Weasley and Samantha James; rather, as Cho and Marietta's conversation faded to the background, she picked out features she shared with the family that had forgotten her. Small glimpses of a life abandoned. As her pupils unfocused, she could almost pretend that it was a window, rather than a reflection, she was staring into.

Somewhere in the depths of manufactured hazel, Dominique came to a decision. If it protected the future and protected her family, it was worth it. "I know it has nothing to do with me," she echoed Marietta and abruptly turned towards the startled pair, "but I think you should go for it, Cho."

"You were _listening?_ " Marietta gasped, affronted.

Dominique graced her with a disparaging raise of the brow, not bothering to point out that they hadn't exactly lowered the cone of silence. Cho, conversely, didn't appear to mind Dominique's eavesdropping. She was clearly torn. "You really think so, Sam? I mean…you don't mind do you?"

"Why would I mind?" Dominique grimaced through a spontaneous case of lock-jaw. "You know men are clueless. Girls always have to make the first move these days," she replied sagely, moving to dry her hands. She glanced up again, offering a tight-lipped smile at Cho's visible blush. "You two deserve some happiness."

 _At least before everything goes to shit…_

Intending to track down Mike before class recommenced, Dominique made to leave, pausing partway into the hall and poking her head back in. "And about the past few weeks – sorry for acting like a stand-offish wanker."

"You weren't being a wanker!" Cho immediately exclaimed. Marietta, on the other hand, looked like she rather agreed with Dominique's assessment.

"I was _definitely_ being a wanker," she assured them. "But I've put that all behind me now, so if we could all move on…?" she trailed off hopefully. Cho nodded, smiling warmly, and Marietta grunted in acquiescence.

Dominique left the lavatory with the distinct sense that the latter had preferred her absence; the impression wasn't lessened when her voice carried out into the bustling school corridors. "See, even _Sam_ thinks it's a good idea."

Mood as high as it was, Dominique only rolled her eyes. _Twat._

* * *

By the morning of the eagerly anticipated Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match Dominique still hadn't approached Leanne, who had mastered the art of cold-shouldering, or Katie, who was so entirely under the slave-driving whip of Wood for the upcoming game that Dominique only caught snatches of her during classes. Amidst all this, Mike had become her closest companion and upon his announcement that he'd received detention on the morning of the match for failing to submit his Astronomy homework for an impressive sixth week in a row, Dominique had considered forgoing the game.

But Wood's enthusiasm about Harry's Firebolt was apparently contagious; Dominique hadn't seen him this cheery since Hufflepuff was flattened by Ravenclaw months ago. "You're going right?" he badgered during tutoring. "This isn't something you're going to miss – I mean," Wood's eyes glazed over, "a _Firebolt_ …"

It wouldn't have surprised Dominique if he started drooling. She laughed, all the while thinking that the sight of the Firebolt zipping around the pitch wouldn't exactly be as breath-taking as Wood assured. In her mind it was more of a family heirloom – something that the older Weasleys and Potters would admire fondly during family get-togethers whilst their children played backyard Quidditch at the Burrow on far sleeker, far faster brooms.

Still, the Firebolt's maiden voyage was an interesting prospect and Wood's pestering finally convinced Dominique. She started questioning this decision a few hours before the match, pushing around a mountain of cold, buttery scrambled eggs on her plate as the Great Hall filled with spectators donning their chosen side's colours. Further along the Hufflepuff table Cadwallader and Max were bickering about Hufflepuff's chances in their next matchup with Mike, who'd yet to depart for detention. Dominique mushed her fork into the sunny gruel, watching eggs squeeze between the grooves as she listened in uncomfortable silence.

Her current relationship with the Hufflepuff team was shaky at best. She was unsure where exactly she stood after her recently attempted mutiny but now that she'd made peace with her position in the past she wasn't ready to sacrifice Quidditch – it was the one selfish outlet she was allowing herself. If they replaced her Dominique would seriously consider staging a coup. Visions of insurgency swimming in her head, she at first didn't register Mike's animated gasp. It was only once he started violently whacking her forearm that she snapped back at him. "Ow!" Dominique yelped, yanking her now tender limb out of his trajectory. "Merlin Mike, can you hit any har – _oh you've got to be kidding me._ "

Following Mike's awestruck gape, Dominique's gaze landed on a throng of Gryffindor boys who were walking in a square around her uncle. Harry was clutching the Firebolt to his chest for truthfully unnecessary protection, considering that the others were providing it with a practical Guard of Honour. Heads to turn in a wave as they passed. They certainly knew how to make an entrance.

Across the table, the piece of bacon Cadwallader was about to ingest hung suspended from his fork, swinging lamely and making no progress towards his slack-jawed mouth. Likewise, Mike seemed to have lost the capacity for proper speech, only managing to exhale two syllables. " _Fire…bolt_."

Dominique propped her chin upon her bridged knuckles and watched in amusement as Wood cleared the Gryffindor table, placing the broom in the very centre, name side up, so that the golden glow emanating from it basked the Gryffindor Quidditch team in its expensive, name-brand light. People throughout the Great Hall appeared to be struggling with their reactions to it. Along the Hufflepuff table people were simply gawking, their breakfasts forgotten. The Ravenclaws had more of an air of preparing for a funeral than a Quidditch match. Even the proud Slytherins couldn't quite conceal their shocked, covetous stares. Eventually people started timidly approaching the broom, hesitating as though it were a skittish animal they were afraid to startle.

Cadwallader soon rose in a sort of zombified state to Frankenstein his way over with Max following closely behind and Mike at the rear. Unfortunately, Professor Sinistra chose that exact moment to surface at the head of the Hufflepuff table. "Mr McManus!" she called sharply.

Mike looked like he might cry. He remained stationary, with only the slight twitching of a nerve in his forehead betraying that he wasn't petrified. Perhaps he thought Sinistra's vision relied on movement like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. It did not. As her already testy patience waned, her lips thinning to an almost invisible line, Dominique gently shoved him towards the irritated professor. With his departure she was left standing awkwardly amongst the throng of people swarming around the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Caught at the back of the lively crowd, Dominique only caught hints of the Firebolt but she certainly heard Katie and Angelina's snappish warning to a group of Slytherins, including Isaac Brody, to maintain a perimeter around the broom. Smiling fondly, she turned to leave and walked straight into an unsuspecting bystander.

Who, of course, happened to be Cedric Diggory.

Dominique raised her head towards the crisp, cloudless enchanted ceiling. _Why?_ She asked. _Whhhhhhhhhhy?_

Cedric craned his neck upwards too, following her gaze with a perplexed look. "Er, Sam, what are you doing?"

Muttering that she was "checking for rain", Dominique finally dropped her head to meet Cedric's inquisitive eyes, higher up than she recalled. At the rate these Hogwarts boys were growing Dominique had to suspect that the house-eves were slipping growth-hormones into the meatloaf. She would have to ask Tippy later. But for now she had a painfully awkward reunion to get through.

"Hi," she said, uncertainty drenching her voice. Considering how she had treated him upon their last interaction Dominique wouldn't be surprised if he told her to piss off. She thought she might've deserved it. But it was Cedric Diggory she was dealing with, who apparently couldn't hold a grudge towards _anyone._

"Hi, Sam," he replied. Although he was polite, Dominique could still sense some hesitation in his manner, like he was unsure what to say. That made two of them. "How are you?"

"Alright, I guess. I saw a First Year run screaming bloody murder through the Fifth Floor corridor with Peeves on his tail earlier so that was interesting." Dominique thought she saw the barest hint of a smile burgeoning on Cedric's face but he looked away before she could be sure. Thankfully, just as an awkward pause threatened to develop they were saved by the distraction behind them. People were swarming around the broom like bees to a hive and the crowd was becoming boisterous, to say the least.

"Did you get a look at the Firebolt?" she asked, motioning to the bustle. There was the sound of a crunch and an audible wince as somebody got elbowed in the face after attempting to squirm their way to the front. Seconds later a Third Year emerged, clutching his bloodied nose with a murderous scowl before running to, presumably, the Hospital Wing.

 _Yikes_ , Dominique cringed. _Quidditch really does make people crazy._

Watching the exchange along with her, Cedric eventually responded. "Yeah, I did. Potter's pretty lucky." With a guilty look at Harry, who was in turn mooning over the Firebolt adoringly, he admitted, "I still feel bad about his old Nimbus."

"Well I'd say he managed to get his hands on a decent replacement," Dominique laughed at her uncle's love-struck expression. Cedric nodded in agreement and Dominique bit the inside of her cheek, questioning why he was acting so civil after she'd practically bitten his head off the last time they spoke. If she were him she wouldn't be giving herself the time of day. And yet here he was. "Ced, why-?"

At the same time she started to ask, Cedric spoke. "Listen, Sam-" He paused and smiled sheepishly, Dominique mirroring the motion. "You first," he said.

Dominique suddenly decided that she didn't really care _why_ exactly Cedric was still speaking to her, simply chalking it up to his inhuman kindness, and realised that it was more important that he _was_ speaking to her in the first place. Foolish though it may have been, she wanted to keep it that way and so launched into an apology before she could chicken out. "Ced, I owe you an apology. Actually I owe a few people apologies, but you most of all I think. The other night, about all the Quidditch stuff, I was…well, I was being a bitch," she said bluntly.

"Sam, you weren't-" Cedric protested but Dominique cut him off. He was too gentlemanly for his own good. Apparently to the point of blindness. In a way it reminded her of Cho. Dominique pushed that off-putting comparison to the side as she continued.

"I just…I was dealing with some stuff, and I know it's not a good excuse but it's the only one I have at the moment. I said some stupid things and I'm sorry."

"You weren't being a bitch," Cedric repeated resolutely, earning himself a mildly exasperated look from Dominique, who wished he would just accept the fact and move on. "I get it though, with everything that's happened to you...you don't have to apologise, you know? Not for anything." Dominique answering smile soured her features. She had a lot to apologise for - not just for what had occurred, but for what she was going to let occur. Biting back a sigh, she ignored her darkening thoughts. _Damned if you do, damned if you don't_. As Cedric went on, his suddenly formal demeanour contained a teasing undertone. "I do have one condition though," he said with a grave expression that spread to a grin. "You have to stay on the Quidditch team."

Dominique snorted at that and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the crowd around them started milling out of the hall, heading towards the Quidditch pitch. "Nothing in the world could keep me away." She was jostled about as the surge of people continued and allowed herself to get caught in the current so she wouldn't miss the start of the match. "I'll see you down there, Cap?" she asked, raising her voice about the ruckus.

"Yeah! I'm serious about Quidditch though! I'm making you run laps next training for attempted desertion!" He called back over the sea of heads.

Dominique's bark of laughter rang out over the crowd's murmur as she moved further away. "I may just be conveniently ill that day!" At that point she lost sight of him but his promise to drag her out of the Hospital Wing, adding the Madam Pomfrey would probably provide assistance, was audible enough. That she didn't doubt. Grinning at the image, she pushed herself up on her tip-toes, a witty retort on the tip of her tongue.

When she finally spotted him though, his attention was already being drawn into a conversation with somebody else. Cho was decked in her navy flying robes, her long hair tied back into a sleek ponytail that she tossed over her shoulder with a sweet smile at Cedric. Dominique sank back down and allowed herself to get pulled along towards the Quidditch pitch, a niggling sensation forming in her gut. It was forgotten rather quickly, however, upon detecting Cormac McLaggen's imminent arrival from the corner of her eyes. Weaving through the spectators, Dominique negotiated the puddles their footsteps rippled along the slippery, mulchy, muddy path all the way to the top-most Hufflepuff stands. Atop the rickety stairs she ducked to avoid Luna Lovegood's precariously balanced enormous eagle headpiece, which could flap its wings on command, and with her eyes still trained on it, she failed to comprehend where exactly she sat. At the strange stiffening of the person beside her, Dominique turned towards them and groaned.

 _Because this morning couldn't get any more awkward._

"Come on, Leanne," she sighed. "Can't we get past all this?

Leanne, who'd been resolutely glaring ahead, finally inclined her head towards Dominique. "Oh hello, Sam, I didn't see you there," she said in a clipped voice. "Actually I was under the impression that you'd left the school." Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones on their opposite side shuffled away, becoming absorbed in their own conversation.

"Just hear me out. Don't make me beg," Dominique pouted and clasped her hands together, wringing them imploringly before Leanne, whose lips twitched almost imperceptibly. Before she could capitalise on the crack in Leanne's frosty mask, the sharp cry of Hooch's whistle caused both of their heads to snap towards the pitch where figures in scarlet and navy were already dashing across the sky.

The harsh noon sun shimmered the air and Dominique couldn't tell at first who had possession of the quaffle until a trio of Ravenclaw chasers went pelting after Katie Bell a few metres ahead. Beside her, Leanne returned to vengefully ignoring her existence and whilst Dominique mentally listed increasingly desperate ways to earn absolution, Lee Jordan's commentary resounded through the stands. Much to Professor McGonagall's consternation it was more of a Firebolt advertisement than anything else. "…The Firebolt, incidentally, has a built-in auto-brake and -"

"Jordan!" McGonagall snarled into the microphone, causing a collective stadium wide cringe.

Regardless of his economic impetuses, Jordan's commentary fixed everyone's rapt attention on Harry, who was a blurred speck across the pitch. Dominique was taken aback by the Firebolt's overwhelming speed in comparison to all other brooms decorating the sky; she could suddenly appreciate her uncle's continued reverence of it. As such, she thought Cho's tactic of tailing and blocking Harry in the knowledge that her Comet 260 could never beat the Firebolt in a race for the snitch, was rather clever if somewhat underhanded.

Seconds after McGonagall temporarily seized the microphone from Jordan, Katie scored the first points of the match and both Dominique and Leanne jumped up, their cheers drowned out by the tumultuous roar of the Gryffindor stands. Dominique's eyes flickered towards Leanne, who was still snubbing her, as they lowered themselves down in silence. Once they sat though, her eyebrows shot up into her hairline when Leanne broke the stillness. "I'm surprised you bothered to show up," she said.

Dominique's lips scrunched up at the implication. She sounded like an absentee parent who'd just rocked up to their kid's soccer game for the first time in several years. Refocusing her attention on the pitch where a Ravenclaw chaser had just managed to slip a shot through the hoops she muttered. "Just because I wasn't around didn't mean I stopped caring about you all."

Skywards, the Gryffindors chasers formed into a Hawkshead formation that scored twice more. The Ravenclaw Captain Roger Davies looked distraught as he flew past. Minutes ticked by and, again, Leanne's abrupt words were unexpected. "You could've spoken to us about it," she said, finally facing Dominique. Her expression had morphed from flinty to guarded. "We might not have been able to do anything about it but we would've listened."

"I know I was being dumb-"

" _That's_ an understatement," Leanne interrupted scathingly but she smoothed her expression and waved a hand for Dominique to continue.

"I wasn't thinking straight. This whole homesickness thing…I thought if I ignored it, it would go away," she admitted quietly. "I shouldn't have cut you guys off because you and Katie are my friends – some of the best friends I've ever had actually. And if it makes you feel any better I was miserable the whole time too. I'm sorry." Leanne scrutinised her face, seeming to consider the apology. "So do you forgive me?" Dominique prompted. "Because if you don't I'm just going to jump from the stands to save myself the loneliness."

Leanne's lips split into a smile and with freely rolling eyes she hugged Dominique. "You are such a drama queen," she said. "Yes, you're forgiven. Just don't go all hermit on me again."

"Never," Dominique promised, squeezing Leanne back. Looping their arms together, the reconciled pair turned back to the game. At the same time Leanne sprang into a description of the school's latest gossip, catching Dominique up on the surprisingly vast amount of information she'd missed. Although admittedly she'd rather focus on Quidditch, she thought it premature in their reconciliation to say so and instead divided her concentration between the game and Leanne's jabbering monologue.

The Hogwarts rumour mill certainly was alive and kicking. Making sure to nod and gasp in all the appropriate places, Dominique kept an eye skywards where Harry, inches from the snitch, was blocked by a Ravenclaw bludger. Whilst one of the fuming Weasley twins immediately vented their frustrations by pelting it right back at the offending Beater, the Gryffindor Captain, who was hovering at the hoops closest to the Hufflepuff stands, cracked his knuckles menacingly.

Although he couldn't see Dominique, Wood was close enough that the sweat beads glistening along his lined forehead were visible from her position. When he stretched his neck she could see hot blood pulsing flush beneath his dark olive skin from an adrenaline rush she was all too familiar with. Wood's athleticism was put on show as he blocked another wild shot from a Ravenclaw chaser, muscles straining against his robes, and Dominique caught a glimpse of the famous Quidditch player he'd eventually become. Overall she had to admit, when playing Quidditch he looked sort of fit…

And then her brain started screaming at her. _No! No! No!_ _What are you thinking? This is Wood! Oliver Wood! Who is not to be admired – physically or otherwise!_

Peering over the railings to the rough turf miles below she wondered if it was too late to jump as she'd threatened to earlier. Perving on Wood was…disturbing. But Dominique's existential crisis was eventually deterred by the vaudevillian interlude of McGonagall and Lee Jordan, the former of which was struggling to control the latter's increasingly avid descriptions of the Firebolt's various qualities. "…The Firebolt's precision-balance is really noticeable in these long-"

"JORDAN ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!"

Cackling along with the rest of the school, Dominique's attention was abruptly drawn from their ensuing battle for the microphone when Leanne started up again. "Woah, hold up what was that last part?" she asked, twisting around.

"Cho and Cedric Diggory!" Leanne repeated giddily. "She asked him to the next Hogsmeade weekend and he said yes!"

Nodding to herself, Dominique pondered why, if this development was indeed as convenient as it sounded, it made her stomach squirm like she'd just chugged a carton of live Flobberworms. "Ced failed to mention that," she murmured, glancing around the rows until she found him sitting with Cadwallader and Summerby. His attention was completely absorbed by the Ravenclaw seeker, who was in the midst of blocking Harry yet again. Dominique started picking at a hangnail with feigned casualness to ignore the strange queasiness overtaking her. "So are they, er, dating?"

"Well, not yet, but fingers crossed! I wish I had a handsome bloke to take with me to Hogsmeade…" Leanne answered wistfully. Dominique nodded again, half-heartedly listening as Leanne described her ideal man. Teenage romance was a tiring thing.

Breaking her contemplation, McGonagall's bellowing set of lungs were suddenly replaced with another's, not on the microphone but far closer to the Hufflepuff stands. "HARRY, THIS IS NO TIME TO BE A GENTLEMAN! KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!" Wood's frantic roar caused Dominique to snort, purely because it was such a _Wood_ comment. She _really_ needed to retract her previous suggestion to him about authoring some self-help books.

Harry, it turned out, was saved the shame of jousting with Cho because moments later a horde of towering Dementors hovered onto the turf below. Their appearance collectively numbed the stadium; some people screamed, but everybody froze.

Everybody _except_ Harry.

Dominique's uncle clearly didn't have time for the Dementor's interruption because without a perfunctory glance he whipped out his wand and shot hazy white smoke at the black shrouded figures, who were knocked to the ground, revealing not the terrifying sight of three uncloaked Dementors, but a tangle of teenage boys that Dominique recognised as the Slytherin Quidditch team. At the same time, Harry's boots touched ground and he raised his fist high in the air, where, clutched inside, the golden snitch thrashed against its prison.

Lee Jordan's announcement that Potter had caught the snitch was lost to Dominique as the Gryffindor stands erupted. She jumped up as people started flooding from the rows down to the pitch and Leanne grabbed her wrist. "Let's go find Katie, she'll want to see you!"

Running amidst streaks of red and gold, Dominique could easily trick herself into believing that this was a match from a very different time and that if she searched long enough she'd spot James Potter up on someone's shoulder in the crowd, yelling himself hoarse and waving his playbook around victoriously. And although it was a very different Gryffindor throng she was engulfed by, the warmth was familiar.

Katie beamed so widely when they found her that Dominique feared her chubby cheeks would tear. Over her shoulder, Dominique spotted Wood holding Harry in a headlock, crying "that's my boy!" on repeat. Managing to pull Katie aside as much as possible in the mountainous cluster, Dominique couldn't hear herself over a chorus of 'Go! Go! Gryffindor!' but this didn't seem to matter. Katie shook her head and heaved both her and Leanne into a bone-crunching hug. Angelina and Alicia latched on and the Weasley twins called a pile up that nearly suffocated Dominique. But asphyxiation was a small price to pay for the moment; any sense of remaining loneliness slipped away in the huddle.

"Get off her, you lot!" someone chuckled. A hand wrapped around Dominique's forearm, pulling her out of the fray only for her to land in another pair of tightly folded arms. She unthinkingly hugged Wood back, peering up to return his dazzling grin and feeling a bit lightheaded. Half a second later they both suddenly realised whose embrace they were enveloped in and hastily separated themselves, Wood clearing his throat at the same time Dominique's cheeks flushed hot.

She personally blamed it on the raised body heat of all the people surrounding them and spoke to cover her embarrassment. "Um, good match, Oliver," she said, wishing that her scarlet cheeks would calm down a bit.

"Thanks," he replied quickly. "Good, er, watching. I mean, well not watching, but-"

Katie, who was standing off to the side with Leanne, decided to save the pair from themselves. "Hey Sammy, you coming?" she called.

Dominique couldn't have bolted there fast enough, despite knowing what she was in for. "Don't you have a party to attend?" she hoped, motioning to the Gryffindor team which was being half-carried back to their Common Room.

"I'll go later," Katie waved her off. "First we have some catching up to do."

" _Major_ catching up," Leanne chimed in as each girl grabbed one of Dominique's swinging arms. With a grim nod and a quick prayer, she prepared for her interrogation.

* * *

The awareness was instantaneous. She was back.

Dominique followed the stream that flowed in reverse almost languidly, knowing that it would eventually spill into the unmoving, marble fountain. Nothing had changed since the first night when the hummingbirds froze and although weeks stretched between dreams they waited, petrified in the whiteness, for her return. Bare feet slicing softly through the steams' current, she felt neither cold nor wet; the lack of sense in this dream realm was what separated it from reality. As always, the passage of time was immeasurable until the fountain hazed into view, but when it finally did Dominique's heart stopped.

Her gasp woke the dead world.

Two blurred figures stood at the fountain's base, each with shocks of platinum blonde hair. Dominique's first cautious steps rapidly transformed into an all-out sprint as the jarring recognition surged her forward.

" _VICTOIRE!"_

" _LOUIS!"_

Victoire gradually turned, like a music box doll. "Dom." Her smile was sorrowful but her whispered voice carried across the void. Louis donned an equally sombre expression when Dominique's gaze carried to him. Their faces, blurred by her tears, knocked the wind from her lungs and she shuddered to a halt.

"You're here," she choked out, throat constricted. She took a step closer but her siblings made no move to bridge the vast distance stretching them further and further apart. Although growing smaller, as though Dominique was fastened to invisible chains that were pulling her away, the crystallised blue of Louis' irises burned into hers.

"But you're not," he said.

Dominique's face screwed up in confusion as she continued to struggle forward. "I – I don't understand-"

"You left, Dom," he said. Victoire placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head gently. Something resembling defeat coursed through their stance. They were fading.

"I'll be home soon!" Dominique sobbed. "I'm coming back!"

The unknown force tugging her backwards strengthened, more tornado than chain now. Dominique whipped her head around to check the emptiness for a source and when she turned back only the marble fountain remained. Louis appeared directly in front of her before the desperate scream could tear from her mouth. "You won't forget me, Lou? Promise you won't forget me!" Dominique pleaded. Louis didn't respond, but merely watched her as the white world disappeared around them.

A great rush of air seared Dominique's shuddering lungs as she darted awake, wide eyes stinging with dry tears as the dormitory formed around her. _Someone's_ parting words echoed in her memory, their voice far older and gravellier than her brothers'. But it was _their_ promise that frightened her the most.

 _"I'm the only one who won't."_

* * *

Several minutes later Dominique's leaden limbs dragged along the stone corridors leading to the Great Hall. Although she struggled to force her lids open she could sense her pale, sullen appearance, offset by the dark circles tattooed under her eyes, which screamed 'unholy demonic possession' rather than 'I am a sexy, mysterious vampire dominatrix' as one would hope. Gracefully completed with a very untidy ponytail, Dominque was aware that she was hard-core channelling Professor Lupin's signature look, _without_ the shabby-chic vibe.

Mind still reeling from the presence of Louis and Victoire in her typically less traumatising dreams, she was forced back to reality upon entering the Great Hall. Halfway to the Hufflepuff table she spotted Cho practically sitting on Cedric's lap in the dead centre, causing a spontaneous re-direction to the Gryffindor table where Katie was chatting with Alicia and Angelina.

It was going to be one _those_ days.

Realistically, Dominique supposed that she should be thankful for Cho and Cedric's disgustingly public displays of affection because they implied that their Hogsmeade date of the past weekend had progressed without disaster and that, more importantly, the stars were re-aligning. Yet immediately after witnessing them the thought of stomaching breakfast became immensely unappetising and so without acknowledgement of the trays of food piled upon the Gryffindor table, Dominique plonked herself down and collapsed her forehead into her folded arms. Allowing her heavy eyelids to shut, the schools murmur muffled to a hush.

Katie, still deep in discussion with her fellow chasers, distractedly patted her shoulder and murmured something to the person across from them. Dominique recognised the distinctive squeak of Neville Longbottom and the sound of feet shuffling against stone floor as he retreated. Katie sighed, allowing him to leave and Dominique wondered why she'd even attempted conversation in the first place.

Rumour had it that after Sirius Black's latest break in and the ear-splitting Howler his grandmother had promptly sent, the disgraced Neville had become about as talkative as a monk, practically taking a sacred vow of silence. After all, it was _his_ scribbled list of Common Room passwords that the exceedingly irritating Sir Cadogan had decided would pass as Black's security clearance. Likewise, Dominique's uncle Ron had been effected by the break in too, however his reaction was (somewhat predictably) of the complete opposite sort; for all intents and purposes he was relishing the infamy of his almost murder and enjoyed retelling the story on an hourly basis.

Either way, Black's latest episode radically increased the castle's safety measures in the form of security trolls so colossal that even Filch didn't complain when the human-sized clubs they dragged everywhere streaked his polished floors and, innocent or not, Sirius Black solidified his image as a crazed lunatic in the eyes of Hogwarts' student population. For an innocent man Dominique thought he was doing very little to contradict his rather negative public image.

As she wondered why in Merlin's name the man wouldn't stop acting like a guilty nutter, Katie started prodding her. "Wake up, Saaaammy," she said. Dominique groaned and lifted her head to glare, causing Katie to physically recoil. "Merlin, what's wrong with you? Are you sick?" She slapped a hand to Dominique's forehead that Dominique pushed away before burrowing back between her arms. She hardly heard Katie's murmur. "Of all the days…"

Moments later the table dipped slightly as somebody replaced Neville in the spot opposite them. An amused voice muffled by the mouthful of food their words were formed around made Dominique wish she'd sat at the Hufflepuff table after all. "Is she alive?"

"Bugger off, Wood," Dominique muttered. Their strange interaction at the Quidditch match had thankfully been forgotten and both seemed to have an unspoken agreement to never mention it again. This however, didn't make him any better company - if anything after their fleeting closeness Dominique found Wood somehow _more_ unreasonably annoying than ever before. He reached over and shook her shoulder, and although she didn't find the energy to shrug him off she did make a noise like an irate grizzly bear. "You want to lose that hand?"

"No, she's fine," Wood informed Katie cheerfully. Dominique emerged to glower at him as she had Katie, staying stony when he startled. "James, when was the last time you _slept?_ "

"About fifteen minutes ago," she grumbled.

Alas, Dominique's ghastly complexion didn't brighten as she started towards Potions, running into Leanne on the way, who half carried her down to the dungeons. En route Dominique's nostrils filled with a light floral scent and she curiously sniffed the air, discovering that the aroma emanated from Leanne herself. "Are you wearing perfume?" she asked quizzically.

Leanne pursed her rose-coloured lips. "Maybe."

Dominique squinted at her, at last noticing her friend's rather _done up_ appearance. Leanne's perfect curls and coated eyelashes prompted Dominique's gaze to rake over the other students passing by, realising that _most_ had put extra effort into their presentation that morning whilst she, on the other hand, resembled a bloody Tim Burton character. She was definitely missing something here.

Moments later, Mike surfaced at Dominique's shoulder, his hair neatly combed and a suave expression carefully in place. " _Ladies_ ," he greeted in a rich baritone voice, wagglingly his eyebrows. Garnering little reaction he dropped the sophisticate air with a shrug. "Worth a try, right?"

As they came to a stop outside of the Potions dungeon, Dominique's red-rimmed eyes travelled between the girls tittering at one side of the dank corridor and the sulking boys at the other. "Why is everyone acting loopy this morning?" she exclaimed, gesturing between them. "Did I miss the part where we all drank the Kool-Aid?"

"Just be thankful you weren't here last year with Lockhart. It was _anarchy_ ," Mike shuddered, shaking his hair so that it returned to its usual style.

"Aw, I thought it was fun," Leanne said. "Those cupids were so cute!"

"You're kidding me, right? They were terrifyi-"

Dominique held up a hand to stop the escalating argument. "Okay, hold up. What is going on here?" she demanded, earning peculiar frowns from both Leanne and Mike.

"Can't you read a calendar, Sammy?" he asked mockingly.

"Of course I can !" she scoffed. "It's Monday!" The pair nodded encouragingly for her to continue so Dominique counted off the date on her fingers. "Monday the…the…" She trailed off, stomach sinking. "Monday the…14th... _Valentine's Day_." The worst day of the year. The day of… _feelings_.

"So you wanna be my Valentine?" Mike asked.

"No," Dominique replied flatly. "Why don't you ask Snape?"

Unfortunately for Mike, Snape wasn't in the mood to be seduced. He swept around the dungeon in usual Snape fashion, carrying with him an aura of misery that Dominique found oddly comforting; after snapping at Cho and Marietta to stop giggling and get on with their potion, she formed a bizarre kindred connection with the Potions Master. At least _he_ was as equally sickened by the googly eyed, love-sick teenage fawning and general hormonal atmosphere unfolding around the dungeon.

"Sammy, you're about to chop off a finger if you don't watch what you're doing with that thing," Leanne warned.

As Cho's plans with Cedric that afternoon carried back to Dominique's station she had begun dicing her ingredients with more force than was strictly necessary. She compelled her rigid fingers to unclench, visualising a calm ocean wave washing delicately upon a tropical shore and prayed for a quick escape so she didn't have to hear any further details of her Captain's _canoodling_.

She didn't expect her silent prayers to be answered so expeditiously.

A tiny peep and a knock at door transformed the classroom into a graveyard as people curved to see who had just condemned themselves to a horrible, merciless death. Snape's noxious regard zeroed in on Derek the First Year, who was shifting on the spot as though trying not to wet himself. "A message from Professor Dumbledore, sir," he squeaked.

 _Alright, so he'll speak to_ Snape _but not to me,_ Dominique thought _. That's just insulting._

The Potion's Master, meanwhile, looked very much like he was considering cursing the messenger. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped. Dominique winced as Derek shot to the front of the classroom like a champagne cork. Whatever they were paying him, it definitely wasn't enough. Snape's cold gaze raked over the parchment. "Miss James?"

The blood rushed from Dominique's face like potion down dungeon drains. She schooled her features into a mask of utter astonishment to assure him that she was in no way complicit in such an _atrocious_ disruption. "Sir?"

"The Headmaster requests your presence," Snape hissed. "You are instructed to take your things with you." Dominique hastily stuffed her books into her satchel as Snape banished her pitiful concoction with a violent slash of his wand. Tearing out of the classroom with Dennis in toe, his shouts followed them up the damp dungeon corridors. "Don't you all have potions to complete!"

Dominique flinched, as did Derek beside her. Realising that he hadn't escaped yet, she tried her luck. "So Derek, messages during classes now too?" At that he broke into a sprint in the opposite direction and Dominique hollered after him. "YOU CAN'T IGNORE ME FOREVER!"

Nevertheless, she continued the journey to Dumbledore's office with only the questioning stares of the portraits decorating the castle walls for company. Upon arrival, the Headmaster's door stood ajar and she was suddenly drowned in unease at the realisation that Dumbledore had never pulled her from class before.

Was she going _home?_

Crossing the frame, Dominique immediately saw that the Headmaster's chair was eerily vacant. She yelped as an unexpected rustling sounded beside her, hand flying towards her wand until she noticed Dumbledore's hunched figure by an enormous rickety cabinet covered in strange runic markings. Heartrate relaxing, Dominique watched him rile through worn pieces of parchment, selecting a few for a pile at his side. "Er, Professor?" she asked uncertainly.

"Good morning, Miss James," he greeted. "If you would be so kind as to allow me a moment, I shall explain the reason for your summoning. Please take a seat."

Dominique obliged, rubbing her tired eyes as she sank into a chair by his desk. Although Dumbledore's tranquil tone had released the tension from her shoulders, she could sense an underlying gravity in the way he considered an individual parchment page with a frown before nodding softly. With a wave of his wand the other selections soared back into their places and the Headmaster joined Dominique at his desk. "First of all, I must ask you to excuse my rudeness," he said. "How do you find yourself this morning?"

Dominique shrugged. "Same old, same old, I guess – sir," she quickly added. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she was talking to the world's most powerful wizard during their conversations and not some eccentric elderly neighbour. Her ensuing questions about the status of her time-turner were halted by a broad yawn that she tried unsuccessfully to stifle.

Dumbledore consider her thoughtfully. "I hope it is not ill-mannered of me to say but you appear exhausted, Miss James. Have you been sleeping well?" Although his air appeared light and courteous, Dominique sensed a deeper concern lurking in the depths of the question.

Her fingers unconsciously travelled to the purple crescents encircling her eyes. "Actually I've been having these…dreams…quite often," she admitted. "Well…more like nightmares. You would have seen them during Occlumency practise I suppose - I mean they are memories in a way."

Dumbledore's pensive expression shifted into a smile, the skin around his twinkling eyes crinkling. "Believe it or not, but your skill has increased markedly since our lessons began; you have been able to keep me out quite successfully these past few lessons. You may find yourself an accomplished Occlumens before these trials come to an end." Dominique almost laughed. Most of the time all she accomplished after their lessons was an intense migraine.

Before she could point out as much, the Headmaster continued, a neutral tone concealing his weighty thoughts. "Impertinent though it is, may I ask what these nightmares are about?"

Dominique traced her fingertips over a grooved chip in the arm of her. "It's usually the same sort of things - things that don't really make a lot of sense. There are these hummingbirds and a fountain and this ticking noise that normally wakes me up. But last night…last night my family was there. My brother and sister were waiting for me but I – I couldn't get to them." She stopped to compose her wavering voice. "But, I mean, they're just dreams, right?"

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore swiftly assured her, but something indistinguishably distant in his demeanour caused Dominique to think that part of his attention was drawn elsewhere. "Just dreams. I would think that your siblings' presence there can be explained quite simply. You miss them. Our dreams, much like our magic, are bonded to our humanity. And here, I believe, is an excellent place to move onto the point of our discussion."

All fatigue was forgotten as Dominique watched an ancient piece of parchment hover over from the runic cabinet and land with a soft thud on the desk before her. Judging by its almost translucently thin pages, barely visible script and powerful musty smell, it was extremely old and extremely delicate. As such she didn't dare touch it, fearing that it would crumble to dust and slip through her fingers. Dominique leant forward and squinted at the ghostly remnants of elegant French script. "What is it, sir?"

"It is part of a manuscript containing designs for an exceedingly powerful magical device conceived around the late seventeenth century. A section of Rimbaud's manuscripts."

"You found it?" Dominique whispered, gaping at the parchment with the same reverence one would an atomic bomb. Complex, volatile, dangerous – much like the time-turner itself.

"A section, Miss James," Dumbledore clarified. "Incomplete and therefore not as helpful as one would hope. Nonetheless, I believe we may have stumbled upon some rather marvellous luck in finding this precise section. It mentions, in passing, a location very likely to house the remaining pieces of the puzzle. Rimbaud's personal residence, le Château de Verre,"

"Château de Verre?" Dominique repeated, words hitching in her throat. _The Castle of Glass_.

Dumbledore suppressed a chuckle at Dominique's reaction and continued. "Of course being so favoured by the royal house, Rimbaud was rumoured to possess many such estates but by all accounts, this was his preferred. Heavily protected and incredibly secure, the location was lost through the years as magic faded from his bloodline. Nobody has been able to uncover it…until now." The Headmaster's aged hand rested carefully on the parchment, directing Dominique's attention to pale sketches of a grand rectangular chateau. "If his writings endure they will be there."

Silent seconds passed until Dominique sensed Dumbledore's solemn gaze trained on her. "And with that knowledge, I must ask something of you I truly wish I did not have to, Miss James. It is imperative that the estate be searched but gaining access will not be easy. Rimbaud was a cautious man, not one to allow such destructive an instrument as his time-turner to fall into unwanted hands…and yet it did. I believe that this is more than mere coincidence; the time-turner is bonded to you. I'm afraid I cannot explain why but I am sure that your fates are linked and because of this it is quite possible that you alone will be able to uncover its secrets. Please understand that I would not ask you to accompany me if I believed there was any other way."

Dominique's hands were clutched together so rigidly in her lap that the skin around her nails was turning purple. Dumbledore's words marked an unspoken shift. The perils of the past thus far had been limited to running into people she should be avoiding and blurting out information she should've been concealing but now a true, physical threat was looming before her.

The time-turner was finally leading Dominique down the dangerous path that had been stretched before her since picking it up in a bathroom sink half a year ago. She stuffed her slightly trembling hands in her pockets and met Dumbledore's apologetic gaze. At least she'd have the greatest wizard in the world along for the journey.

Dominique swallowed. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as I am able to discover the exact location of the Chateau. It may take some time, however I must ask you to be prepared to depart at any moment. I believe that is all the information I can share with you today, Miss James."

Churning this new onslaught of knowledge over in her mind, Dominique nodded and grabbed her satchel, slinging it over her shoulder as she made to rise. "I have to go back to class now, don't I?" she sighed, aware once more of her drooping eyelids.

"You'll find, that exhaustion can be as dilapidating as illness," Dumbledore said warmly as he walked with her to the gargoyle guarded staircase. "As such, it is my recommendation that you return to your dormitory for some officially mandated rest. I shall inform your Professors that you are unable to attend the day's remaining classes, under my instruction."

Dominique beamed at him until his chuckling form disappeared behind the closing office door. As she plodded down the stairs she focused on the one comforting thing to arise from their meeting. She could now spend Valentine's Day as she liked to best. Unconscious.

* * *

 **AN: Happy New Year, kids! Double digits woo!**

 **The most under-rated relationship of the entire Harry Potter series is the co-commentating of McGonagall and Lee Jordan, I** _ **had**_ **to sneak some in. I've been asked a few times about how long I think this fic will be and I don't really have an answer yet, I'm sort of just riding the waves atm. That said, I am planning on moving the story to GOF times soon (probably by Chapter 15) because I'm pretty sure we all want to see some Delacour Drama™ when Fleur rocks up.**


	11. In Flagrante Delicto

**In Flagrante Delicto**

Another month slipped by and no more was said about Rimbaud, his time-turner or his chateau. Time stopped and started in that jarring way Dominique had become so accustom to until, seemingly out of nowhere, it was March 13th; her fifteenth birthday.

Dawn broke early that morning and she sat, perched by the dormitory window, to watch the sky wake in violet swirls as the meaning of the day, and the reality that her true age and her birthday were from thereon unaligned, sunk in. It was a disturbing thought, one that reinforced the gravity of her situation and one that she would truthfully rather not think about.

Dominique supposed it was a small mercy then that the day coincided with a Hogsmeade weekend, one that was spent with Katie and Leanne wandering the village in an effort to distract herself with Honeydukes sweets and novelty whoopee cushions from Zonko's. But it was something else altogether that proved the most memorable diversion - a truly sickening sight that the trio stumbled upon as they ventured back up to the castle, bathed in bright afternoon sunlight.

The scene was framed by the lacy storefront windows of Madam Puddifoot's. A familiar couple positioned in the far, floral wall-papered corner atop a peach coloured platform caught the girl's attention, spurring Leanne to pull the other two along to press their nose practically against the rose-tinted glass. Inside, Cho leant across the table, flushed pinker than her surroundings, and plucked out a piece of curly confetti that had gotten caught in Cedric's hair. Outside, Katie swooned, Leanne commented what an adorable match they made with a syrupy sweet sigh and Dominique swallowed some vomit.

Puddifoot's teashop was reserved for lonely elderly witches, gossipy middle aged debutants, lovesick teenage girls and the unwitting boyfriends they dragged in there who were too enamoured to register the tea-cosied atrocity that enclosed them.

Cedric had obviously gone mad.

Lip curled back in disgust, Dominique tugged her friends away and sought out something that would banish the horrific image of Cho and Cedric that now stained her memory. Such a distraction came a few days later in the form of an announcement that blared through every channel of the Wizarding Wireless and splattered the front pages of the Daily Prophet in such colossal font that no space was spared to lament a certain Azkaban escapee's continued freedom. Britain would be hosting the 422nd Quidditch World Cup, and whilst Dominique was obviously aware of this in advance she was naïve to the fervour it would stir.

Half the castle was vying for tickets; everybody from Cedric, to the Weasleys, to Madame Hooch to Wood – who Dominique didn't doubt would most likely pledge his soul to Wizard Satan to secure a spot in the stands.

There were some – mostly those who didn't have to worry about such material things as cost – who had already secured tickets, a fact which they tended to make known. Draco Malfoy boasted loudly and often about his seats in the towering Minister's Box and Dominique was among the many who hoped that he would meet with an unfortunate climbing accident on his way up and splat against the turf below like a squashed fruit. Thankfully, others handled their good fortune with more grace. Luna Lovegood, as a member of the Quibbler's imperturbable 'press team,' was already promised a spot and had told Dominique about her father's editorial plans whilst rescuing her from the trick staircase she had stumbled into after another fruitless search for the Room of Requirement.

It would be a lie to say that Dominique wasn't _marginally_ bitter about the fact that - all things according to plan - she would leave the past _mere weeks_ before one of the greatest Quidditch tournaments of all time. She smothered another sigh as Luna cheerfully explained the many Nargle catching opportunities such a diverse crowd would create and, whilst shaking the nerves in her leg back awake from the knee down, prayed that at the very least her friend would remember to actually attend a match or two whilst she was there.

At the same time, hype for the World Cup seemed to have a domino affect on Hogwarts' own tournament, with anticipation of the school's Quidditch final spreading like wildfire. Dominique had been personally resigned to the Hufflepuff team's imminent doom ever since Cedric had shunned her suggestion of breaking into the Nimbus 2001 wielding Slytherin team's broom shed and committing light arson, and so the thrashing they received in their last match wasn't exactly a shocker.

Instead it was arch rivals Gryffindor and Slytherin who would be facing off in the grand finale - the showdown of the century. As an immediate consequence, Hogwarts transformed into a sort of battleground as brawl after brawl erupted in the halls so frequently and violently that the teachers alone couldn't manage and the Prefects were relied upon to keep the peace. Percy Weasley was in his element, handing out detentions with more ardour than judges at the Wizengamot and Dominique made sure to avoid his twitchy, surprisingly far-seeing scrutiny as game-day approached.

Privately, she was finally coming to appreciate the neutrality of her yellow Hufflepuff robes; this, however, didn't mean that she didn't spend a considerable amount time acting as Katie Bell's personal body guard. Not only was she the target of multiple sabotage attempts but the kill-or-be-killed atmosphere surging through the castle brought out a strange and frankly frightening penchant for violence in the wiry Gryffindor chaser that had Dominique and Leanne dragging her out of more than one duel per day.

It was for this reason that on the morning of the Quidditch final as she pushed her way through the amassed crowd swarming the Entrance Hall, Dominique hoped she wouldn't find Katie covered in blood, with yet another black eye or her arm in a sling. Firstly, however, she had to track her down in the bustling room, rippling with nervous energy and crammed wall to wall with supporters draped in Gryffindor garb. After perching on her tiptoes failed to provide an obvious heading, Dominique started towards the base of a vast, flashing lion banner that hung suspended above the horde. Under it Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were painting the faces of a willing assembly line of supporters with a pyramid of paint pots amassed nearby. Their own grinning features were split into matching blocks of scarlet and gold and they clearly didn't mind the metallic, varnished scent that clung to them.

For her own peace of mind Dominique picked up a stray paint pot and inspected the label to double check that the pair weren't accidentally giving anyone lead poisoning. She doubted that Pomfrey would be pleased if the Gryffindor victory party had to be moved up to the Hospital Wing.

"Hope you're not planning any sabotage, James."

Although her gaze didn't stray from the label she was reading, the smile Dominique was holding back broke forth at the sound of his voice. "You caught me, Wood. I'm here to steal all your face paint. However will you survive?" At this she looked up to see him leaning against the wall opposite with controlled ease, smirking. "And more importantly what do you plan on doing about it?"

"I'll have kill you," he avowed gravely, pushing off the wall and coming to stand by her. Dominique perceived that his movements were stiff and, like his stance, inflexible. He was wearing an invisible armour of calm; an illusion that would have held if not for the iron tense set of his shoulders or the way his hair stood ruffled from repeatedly running a hand through it.

In any case, she placed a hand on her hip and laughed. "You couldn't if you wanted to. You don't know where Katie is, do you? I wanted to wish her luck."

"She's back with the rest of the team," Wood nodded over his shoulder where, despite the circus raging around them, the Gryffindor team stood huddled together, wired and insular and…Captainless.

"And you're not with them because…?"

Wood shrugged uninterestedly, but as a knowing smile spread across Dominique's lips he exhaled and dropped his voice an octave so that only she could hear it. "I'm the Captain - I'm not supposed to get nervous, I'm supposed to keep everyone steady. I just…need a moment to distract myself…and I guess you just happen to be a very distracting person."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she teased, earning a pointed, if somewhat exasperated, look from Wood that clearly said he wasn't about to disagree. Clapping a hand to her chest, she pouted dramatically. "Straight to the heart."

Dominique's playful demeanour faltered, however, when a chuckling Wood suddenly leant in close. The air she had sucked in was only released when he re-emerged, paint pot in hand, and the realisation that he had simply reached around her to grab it settled in. Shaking herself back to her senses as subtly as possible, Dominique was mildly annoyed by Wood acting as though he hadn't just invaded her person bubble as he unclasped the paint lid with a click.

"Well, James, for once I'm grateful for your maddening ability to side-track me at every opportunity," he said. Not bothering to ask for permission, he dipped the tip of a stray paintbrush into the paint and sent a small current waving across the thick, crimson surface.

"You'll want to watch where you put that, Wood," Dominique wrinkled her nose. "You're not going to draw a prick on me are you?" Wood's smirk grew to a full-fledged grin and he ordered her to hold still.

Dominique's retort was lost on her tongue the second the cool, wet bristles met her cheek to drag in a line down the smooth skin. At this, the most inopportune instant possible, it suddenly occurred to her that she had never been so close to Oliver Wood. Face mere inches from his, she could virtually count the dark lashes that boarded his dancing eyes, alight with supressed adrenaline. Actually, he had sort of interesting eyes now that she really looked...

"Stop staring at me, James. You're ruining my concentration."

Dominique scoffed. "Wood, I do not stare," she said petulantly. "And if I did, rest assured, it wouldn't be at y-"

"Hey, Oliver! We'd better get down there!"

Over Wood's shoulder, the Gryffindor team was collecting their brooms and disappearing through the castle doors, out onto the sun bleached grounds. Alicia, who had just called her Captain over, was waiting expectantly. Dominique watched as Wood visibly defaulted into Quidditch mode; the cockiness drained from his face and was replaced with resolute determination, his jaw clenched and he nodded. Paler than she thought possible, he swallowed thickly before striding away without another word.

It wasn't until he met up with his team that Dominique spotted the petite figure bobbing by his elbow. "Katie!" She turned, catching sight of Dominique and grinned around an obviously split lip and bruised chin. Although Dominique managed to supress a groan, Leanne, who had just appeared beside her, could not. "Good luck!"

Together they travelled to the pitch amidst the roar of the crowd and in a mere blink, the whistles blew, the players shot into the air and Dominique's wandering fingertips strayed to her face, where they spent the match unconsciously brushing over the drying strips of crimson paint coating her skin.

* * *

Five hours and many makeup wipes later, Dominique found herself climbing the stairs to the Seventh Floor. She could already hear the music from the party she was about to crash pounding through the walls like a pulse. The Fat Lady, who was dutifully guarding the entry to the Gryffindor Common Room, glowered at Dominique, who nervously brushed some imaginary flint off her jeans as she approached.

The request hadn't left her mouth before the portrait, who was covering her ears with her pudgy hands, started to rant. "No! No more! Sirius Black is in and out of the castle like he owns the place and you lot have me letting in whoever you please! No, I'm through! If you aren't Gryffindor, you aren't coming in!"

"Do I look like Sirius Black to you?" Dominique asked, spreading her arms wide.

"Do I look like a bouncer?" The portrait countered. Dominique opened her mouth to reply 'sort of' but the Fat Lady cut her off, hooded eyes narrowed. "Don't push it, Hufflepuff."

It seemed that she was the only person who didn't bunk in the Slytherin Common Room who was not out celebrating their long-coming defeat. Well, maybe not the only person, Dominique reasoned as her mind wandered back to minutes earlier when she'd run into Cedric on his way to the library. It didn't take an auror to see that he was exhausted, his movements sluggish and arms weighed down by a mountain of textbooks, but he still performed a small double take at Dominique's dressed up appearance. She was relieved to see those famous dimples form around his worn smile as he told her that she looked like she was off to start trouble.

Naturally, in response she had curtsied and promised not to cause _too_ much. Now it didn't look like she would be causing any at all.

Internally, Dominique listed alternative ways she could infiltrate the Gryffindor Common Room, concluding that abseiling down from the roof was probably the way to go until somebody stumbled out of the portrait hole and cut the Fat Lady's tirade off with a bang. "Sammy, I was just about to come looking for you!" Katie cried before skipping over to seize Dominique's wrist.

As they hopped through the entrance, Dominique jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the grumbling portrait. "Cheerful over there wouldn't let me in."

Regardless, Katie's muttered advice that she be thankful it wasn't Sir Cadogan fell on deaf ears, for at that moment Dominique came face to face with the Gryffindor Common Room – her home away from home – for the first time in almost a year. A strange homesickness flooded her at the sight of the burgundy wallpaper and high beamed ceilings, around which the winning snitch from the day's match was zooming. Dean Thomas' lion banner also waved from the stairwell landing and shiny streamers covered almost every surface.

Linking their arms together, Katie unknowingly ended Dominique's nostalgia trip and led her towards the cushioned, window-side chairs where Angelina and Alicia sat gossiping. "Hey where's Leanne?" she asked, realising that a part of their trio was missing.

"You know Gabriel Truman?"

"The Hufflepuff Prefect?" she frowned.

Dominique nodded and smiled at Angelina, who handed her a cup filled to the brim with frothy, ochre Butterbeer. She had had to shout to be heard over the thumping music, a bouncing track from the Weird Sister's latest album. "Thanks, Angelina. Yeah, well he cornered us on the way up to ask Leanne if she wouldn't mind helping his sister study for a History of Magic exam, since he's busy with NEWTs and all."

"And she said yes? To babysitting a Second Year rather than going to a party?"

At that, Dominique flashed her a conspiratorial grin. "I hear he has a fair amount of influence over who the teachers pick as his replacement Prefect next year."

"Subtle, Leanne," Katie laughed, shaking her head before the pair slipped into Angelina and Alicia's conversation about some pre-exam duelling demonstration Professor Lupin wanted to organise.

Soon though, Dominique's attention drifted to the Common Room and she sat, sipping her warm Butterbeer, taking it all in. In an almost dead corner her aunt Hermione sat alone, buried under parchment and thick books, looking on the verge of tears as she snapped one shut and hurried up the dormitory steps. Further back, her uncle Percy was running around like a headless chicken yelling at people to use coasters, largely going ignored by everybody else who were busy chatting, some dancing and others grabbing food from a spread that had probably been supplied by the school house-elves.

Closer, by the barren fireplace, a group of boys were playing less than sober exploding snap, having managed to procure some Firewhiskey. Cormac McLaggen was among them, complaining obnoxiously about his superior skills as a Keeper and describing to anyone in earshot how he could have won Gryffindor today's game with a much more decisive margin. According to McLaggen, now that Wood was graduating, his spot on the team was practically guaranteed.

About to lose her battle against hexing him, Dominique was beat to it by Kenneth Towler, who cast a stealthy tongue tying charm from a spot by the broom closet and winked upon catching Dominique's eye. _I knew there was a reason I liked Ced's friends_ , she thought and smiled back at him.

Whilst McLaggen floundered on the couch, she bobbed as the weight of her chair suddenly shifted and Katie jumped up to squeal that the track that had just come on was her favourite song. Dominique wasn't given much of a choice before she was being pulled towards the makeshift dancefloor that suddenly formed in the centre of the room by Katie, Angelina and Alicia. Somewhere, amidst the twirling, shimmying and head-banging, she made a risky escape attempt to the refreshment table, a safe distance away from where the girls were now spinning around with the Weasley twins.

Dominique's shoulders shook with laughter as one of her uncles started slut dropping and, spurred by her nose, she distractedly reached for a jelly roll on a plate behind her. When her hand collided with somebody else's she spun around to see her uncle Ron reaching for the same roll, blushing as red as his hair. "Sorry," she said, drawing her hand away swiftly.

Ron simply gawked at her like she was from another planet and it was her uncle Harry next to him who finally broke the silence. He was apparently unaware that his Common Room had been infiltrated by Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. "No offence…but aren't you in Hufflepuff?"

"If I say 'yes' will you kick me out?" she joked. When neither reacted Dominique laughed uncomfortably and pointed at Katie who was in the process of sashaying around Angelina. "I'm a friend of Katie's."

"I'm Harry and this is Ron. You're Sam James, right?" Harry asked, trying to be polite. From the corner of her eye Dominique saw Ron subtly swipe the jelly roll and suppressed a smile.

"The one and only," she confirmed.

On the opposite side of the table somebody snorted and Dominique turned to see Wood pouring some Butterbeer into a plastic cup already half filled with another clear, amber liquid. "You got that right," he chuckled.

Dominique's greeting was half smile, half groan. "Wood."

"James." Manoeuvring around the table, his eyes lingered on hers longer than they usually would, prompting her to notice that the jubilant, tearful red rims that had encircled them earlier had been replaced by heavy lids, probably brought about by whatever it was he was drinking. As though he could read her thoughts, a crooked smile lit his face and he offered her his cup. "Thirsty?"

"The one and only time I've ever been drunk was a disaster," she told him, pushing away the cup and the medicinal scent stemming from it. "I swear I was hung over for a week. I legitimately thought I was going to die." That was the time James had used the invisibility cloak to break into the Burrow's liquor cabinet and, coincidentally, the first time Dominique and most of her cousins had ever tasted Firewhiskey. Teddy had tracked them down in the Burrow shed hours later, passed out or throwing up or both, and after a lecture that lasted till sunrise he forced enough nausea potions down their throats to nearly drown them. Dominique shuddered at the memory. "Never again..."

"Wise choice then," Wood hummed. He poured her a cup of frothy Butterbeer instead and as he did Dominique realised that at some point Harry and Ron had retreated, off to meddle somewhere else no doubt.

Grabbing the drink, her fingers brushed over Wood's. "So now that you've realised your life's dream of winning the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, what's the plan?"

"Wait to hear from Quidditch scouts I guess. Try and get through NEWTs in the meantime," he said around the lip of his cup. Pulling a face at the thought of their upcoming exams, Dominique took a hearty swig of Butterbeer and tried to forget the assignments waiting for her when she returned to her dormitory. Again, as though he had spontaneously acquired the ability to read thoughts, Wood seemed attuned to Dominique's apprehension and closed some of the distance between them. "You'll do fine, Sam, trust me…I've barely had to extinguish any transfiguration fires for weeks."

"Hey, it's harder than it looks," she retorted defensively.

Wood's smirking lips parted to reply but he was interrupted by a Seventh Year Dominique didn't recognise who had come to inform the Gryffindor Captain that Percy was looking for him. "Something about 'coasters' and 'tomfoolery'," the Seventh Year drawled before disappearing.

"I'll see you later, Sam," Wood said exasperatedly and although he did leave, she caught his eyes flickering back to her more than once as he weaved through the party.

Unluckily for Dominique, her conversation with Wood had not gone unnoticed and when she finally tracked the girls down again she was met with three pairs of suggestive, waggling eyebrows. "He asked me earlier if you were coming, you know," Alicia divulged. Katie, who Dominique wasn't convinced hadn't gotten into the Firewhiskey, doubled over cackling whilst Angelina and Alicia's broke into a spontaneous chorus of 'Sammy and Wood Sitting in a Tree.' Trying and failing to clasp her hands over three separate mouths, Dominique's suggestion that they all kindly "piss off" was offset by her laughter.

The rest of the night elapsed in darting bursts. The purple clouds outside morphed into an inky black sky and after hours of gossiping with the girls, watching the Weasley twins tango around the room and consuming insane amounts of sugar, Dominique was knackered. Curfew had fallen and the party had passed its prime by the time she readied to leave, and she was annoyed with herself at having turned down Katie's offer to duck down to the kitchens with Fred and George earlier.

Whilst the idea of Filch catching them after hours was laughable, without the cloak or the map Dominique doubted she would have as much luck. Casting a rueful scowl in the direction of the boy's dormitories where she knew they were both stashed with her uncle, she prepared to leave and hoped that the Fat Lady wouldn't pitch a fit when she climbed through the portrait hole.

 _The house-elves are going to have one hell of clean up job_ , she thought to herself as stepped over one of the many plastic cups strewn across the carpet.

A split second later, a yelp caught in Dominique's throat as she was yanked backwards and whirled around to face Cormac McLaggen, who had his fingers clasped around her forearm like iron bars. The motion pulled her off balance, sloshing Butterbeer over the brim of her cup and onto her shirt to stain the dusty pink fabric an off brown. "McLaggen," she hissed. "If you are going to ruin my clothes I might just have to ruin your face! Get off me, would you!

McLaggen for his part was either oblivious to the mess he had just made or simply didn't care; perhaps he didn't trust Dominique to follow through on her threats. "Calm down, James. I just want to chat - you've been avoiding me all evening!"

"Gee, I wonder why! Being around you is _always_ such a pleasant experience!"

Although McLaggen's response was too slurred to untangle, the second grab he made for her arm was clear enough. However, before Dominique's fingers could so much as twitch to her wand somebody was blocking the path that the curse – or fist – she was planning to launch at him would travel. Wood had appeared out of thin air in front of her.

And although she appreciated the sentiment, Dominique really did just want to punch McLaggen in the face.

She very nearly ordered Wood to stand aside, until she glimpsed the expression he wore, more daunting that even those he used to reserve exclusively for her. "Go to bed, McLaggen, before you do something you'll really regret," Wood warned. Whilst McLaggen appeared to be aggressively swallowing the words he wanted to hurl at Wood, the Gryffindor Captain spoke again. "If you ever want to get on this team you'll listen to its Captain."

A tense silence followed until, with a final acidic glare tossed their way, McLaggen shoved past Wood and stormed out of the portrait hole to Merlin knew where. His words trailed after him, an ominous promise. "Not for much longer."

Dominique's fantasies of him getting caught so that Filch could finally bust out those ankle chains he was always raving about were disrupted when Wood turned to her, sounding concerned. "You alright, Sam?"

"Peachy," she answered, surprised to see that their altercation hadn't caused a scene. Turning back to Wood, her hand resumed its place on her hip. "But I can take care of myself, Oliver. Especially when it comes to morons like McLaggen."

"You know a 'thank you' won't hurt you," Wood said smugly, brushing off her statement.

Dominique scoffed, about to protest once more when she became abruptly aware of the uncomfortable stickiness on her chest where Butterbeer had soaked through the thin fabric of her shirt, which was now clinging to her skin where the drink had stained it. Her bra underneath was painfully visible and thanks to McLaggen it looked like she had just participated in a wet t-shirt contest.

Wood seemed to have come to a similar realisation. "Hey, eyes up here, Wood!" Dominique snapped, hastily folding her arms across her chest and giving him a pointed look.

To his credit Wood looked guilty, concentrating on a spot somewhere above her head and clearing his throat. "I, er, have a shirt you can borrow," he proffered by way of an apology and conscious that she would have to walk back through the castle in this state, Dominique waved a conceding hand.

The waning noise of the party hushed as she followed him up the familiar dormitory stairs, discovering with a bittersweet pang that Wood's dormitory was the same one James and Lysander would share in the future. The world outside muted completely when the door closed shut and whilst he rummaged through his trunk Dominique scrutinised the room, almost identical to the one from her memories; the Keeper's gear and Puddlemere United posters surrounding the bed closest to the door immediately exposed it as Wood's.

"Here," he said, emerging with a navy blue t-shirt that was sure to dwarf Dominique and tossing it at her with a smile.

He then turned away and made a playful display of protecting her modesty by slapping his hands across his eyes and Dominique giggled in spite of herself. "Thanks." Hesitating as her fingers collected around the flowy material of her shirt, she added softly, "And thanks for stepping in with McLaggen too."

"Anytime," he promised. "Confrontation is one of my strong suits."

"Yeah, I know." She pulled the hem of her shirt upwards and over her now dishevelled hair, dropping it by a collection of loose Gobstones on the floor. "Trust me, I know."

The frown was audible in Wood's tone as he spoke again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well…when we first met," she clarified. "You didn't do much to hide the fact that you hated me, Oliver. I still don't know why, but I know you did."

"Sam..." Wood's hand dropped from his brow as Dominique picked up the t-shirt he had given her. It smelt like a mixture of spiced deodorant and the Quidditch turf. "Listen, I didn't hate you." At the sound of her disbelieving exhale, he instinctively turned. "Seriously – I didn't. There was just something about you that got under my skin, and I didn't want to tutor you and you were cutting into Quidditch practise when it was my last chance to…chance to…"

It took him a few seconds to realise that Dominique was standing there, unmoving, in nothing but a grey bra, jeans and a pair of battered converse. The only motion in the room was the rising and falling of her chest. Wood took a tentative step closer and somewhere a voice told Dominique that this was not a good idea. Her heart skipped multiple beats as he neared and she spoke partially to convince herself that she wasn't having an out of body experience. "And now?"

"Now I like you." Wood closed the space further, voice low and throaty. "A lot."

"I think that's because I'm only partially dressed," she whispered. Suddenly there was no space between them and Wood's fingertips where brushing across Dominique's bare shoulder, raising goose bumps where they trailed. An alarm sounded in the back of her mind but it was weak and unfocused. "Oliver-"

Wood's lips crashed into hers and Dominique's words were silenced. For a split second she froze until, like somebody had flicked a switch, her body responded of its own, traitorous accord. Her mouth parted and one hand snaked upwards to get lost in the cropped curls at the nape of his neck whilst the other grabbed his shirt to pull him closer still. Both of their lips were slightly chapped and Wood's kiss tasted like the mix of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey he'd been drinking. A shudder rippled through Dominique's spine as his calloused fingers travelled down her bare side, gently pushing her back against the wall where rough stone pressed between her shoulder-blades.

Mouthing moving against his, she wondered if it was possible to get drunk on a kiss. In that private, fleeting instant she was utterly invulnerable. But then the dormitory door creaked ajar and Dominique's lids snapped open to make direct eye-contact with…her uncle.

 _"Shit,"_ she hissed. Her arms seemed to spasm as they fiercely shoved Wood off of her.

"Sam-?" he asked bewilderedly, following her gaze towards Percy whereupon his expression morphed from confused to irritated. "Honestly, Weasley, don't you knock?"

"This is _my_ dormitory!" Percy cried. "The _audacity_ – bringing a Fourth Year up here! Not even from our house! Have you no _shame_ , Oliver!"

Dominique's brain blocked out their rising argument and instead focused on yanking her shirt back over her head as harsh, unforgiving reality crashed back down around her. Biting her now swollen bottom lip, she hastily pushed past the two boys with the single objective of escaping in mind. Though she heard Wood shout after her, Dominique payed him no attention and picked up the pace at the sound of following footsteps. Hurrying down the stairs and slipping a few times on the way down, she thanked Merlin that the Common Room was now practically deserted, with no one around to question the odd scene.

The blast of fresh, unspoiled air that hit her as she lurched out of the portrait hole further sobered Dominique of her stupidity and woke her to the complete shit-show she had just created. As far as she was aware, snogging people was not something that worked well with her 'don't get involved, let the future unwind' strategy. She had majorly fucked up. And it was Wood's fault.

 _He kissed me!_ _That complete idiot! Doesn't he realise that he could've just ruined everything!_

Of course, rationally, she knew that her reasons for blaming him were flimsy at best, but still, a shot of wrath laced the mortification racing through Dominique's veins as she mentally piled the fault upon him further. Just when she had it all figured out, he had to go and _snog_ her.

 _I'm going to kill him_ , she fumed. _Once I work up to courage to face him again I'll hex him into next week!_

Because right now, with everything going on, the last thing she needed to be worrying about was her _fucking love life..._

But Dominique's homicidal scheming was suddenly interrupted by the awareness that she was storming through the castle, looking rather indecent, in the dead of night without any protection – a realisation brought about by the re-emergence of someone's heavy foot tread that was drawing increasingly closer. Stomach plummeting at the sound, Dominique was unwilling to wait around and see if they were the same pair from the Common Room and belonged to either Percy or Wood or, in an even worse scenario, they were those of a patrolling teacher or Prefect.

Throwing stealth to the wind, she chose to sprint away from them with wild, reckless abandon. The flaws in this plan became instantly apparent when not only did the first pair of footsteps hasten after her in response, but a second joined them from the opposite side, causing Dominique to screech to a halt and contemplate jumping out of a nearby window. Amidst the sound of her strained breathing, her head spun around the corridor, eyes roaming over the black shadows on either side of her and the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the wall opposite. Quickly abandoning the idea of hiding behind it, she started pacing as her pursuers closed in, desperately trying to think of a way out of this mess.

 _I need to get away._

 _I need to escape._

 _I need to hide._

It was the sound of shifting stone that caused Dominique's head to snap up. She thought she might've been hallucinating as the wall across from her began to twist and morph like putty and the thick stone mutated into polished wood, sinking in to form a grand, gold-handled door as tangible and real as the tapestry across from it. As she reached out towards it, Dominique was half afraid that her fingers would pass through it like smoke. It wasn't until the footsteps abruptly sped up that she remembered that she was in the process of running away. With a sharp intake of breath, she threw herself through the door and let it slam shut with a calamitous bang behind her.

* * *

Inside was a metropolis of lost, broken things.

Dominique didn't dare blink as she took in the immense cathedral-like room and, taking a hesitant step forward, her pupils expanded as light flooded it, revealing spires of damaged furniture towering in every direction with countless narrow paths winding through them. She was staring at generations upon generations of Hogwarts secrets, all concealed in the Room of Hidden Things. Which meant…

"No fucking way…"

Dominique had finally found the Room of Requirement.

Wringing her hands together, she checked the double doors over her shoulder, worried that they would vanish. Something about the room was coaxing her to explore it, mingling with her own untempered curiosity. Plus, Merlin knew who – or what – was waiting for her in the corridor outside.

 _There's no harm in just looking around_ , Dominique reassured herself.

The room seemed to rouse itself from its stupor with her initial steps, as though it were waking from a long sleep. With each metre she walked one of the sunburnt paper lanterns floating untethered overhead like crinkled, airborne tangerines flickered to life and cast the room deeper in an odd orange glow. At the same time, the closer she got to the room's centre the stronger the odd, musky perfumed smell became, but no sound accompanied it save that of Dominique's own making.

Soon the stillness of the place grew unnerving and the hairs along her neck rose with the impression that the many telescopes and spyglasses she swept past were watching her. There were books everywhere, some stained with blood and other suspicious blotches, piled in a way that they only complicated the room's maze and as Dominique passed a cornucopia of rusted, exploded cauldrons it occurred to her that she was standing smack bang in the middle of a boggart's playground.

All of a sudden scouting it alone didn't seem like such a bright idea.

Grip tightening around the wand she had drawn out of her pocket, she turned to cut through a path that appeared to take a shorter route to the exit, gulping as she passed a guillotine, a gag inducing stuffed troll and a claw-footed mirror with strange, foreign runes engraved within its gold frame. It was in this mirrors reflection that the room's first spark of life whizzed past. Circling around in such haste that she nearly lost balanced, Dominique's face scrunched up at the buzz of insect wings. When her eyes finally zeroed in on the crumpled, translucent things she saw that they were attached not to a bird, but a key, which was heading in the same direction she was.

For near a minute she reluctantly trailed after it, all the while coming to the conclusion that the Room of Hidden Things was probably the freakiest place on earth. Dominique wrapped her arms around herself as a chill rushed over her and barely noticed when the key started to struggle in the air, its wings faltering, and then dropped to the floor where it lay unmoving.

What she _did_ notice was the wailing. It was rising from a grimy silver tiara, perched atop a rickety crate across from her. Faint and indistinct, the howl sounded as though it came from the bottom of a well; a raw, bottled up cry that threatened to rip through the air if its dust seal was broken. The tiara itself was made of ornate metal with a great sapphire wedged in the middle of two spread wings that formed the crown, along which delicate lettering too coated in filth to read was inscribed.

It was clearly beautiful, but as Dominique stared at it she was drowned in a hollow sort of numbness that only served to terrify her. The tiara was twisted and warped by dark magic; the kind that tainted those who came into contact with it. In her mind's eye she could see the black magic pooling from the metal and reaching forward in grasping, strangling tendrils. Dominique took an automatic step backwards and redrew her wand with the single desire of creating as much distance between herself and the tiara as physically possible. As she fled she checked over her shoulder more than once to make sure the darkness wasn't following.

By the time she reached the double doors leading to the castle outside and locking the Room of Hidden Things away on the other, Dominique was starting to realise that maybe, just maybe, it was hidden for a reason.


	12. Mistakes Were Made

**Mistakes Were Made**

There were two reasons that Dominique spent the weekend hiding out in her dormitory and neither involved the hangover Leanne conveniently blamed it on.

The first and most disturbing of the two was the Room of Requirement or, more specifically, what lay within it. Dominique spent two days raking her memory for any mention of history's creepiest tiara in her parent's rare discussions of the war and although she came up blank, that didn't mean the crown wasn't the stuff of nightmares. She resolved to steer clear of the Room unless in dire need, having recently come to trust her gut in matters of magical jewellery.

The second reason was Wood.

The exposure of Dominique's _indiscretions_ seemed imminent; at least if Percy Weasley's automatic reaction was anything to go by. Her main worry was that he would completely short circuit and the whole school would know that Hufflepuff Samantha James was caught snogging Gryffindor Captain Oliver Wood during the Gryffindor Quidditch party before twenty four hours had elapsed. The thought that her romantic escapades could become the topic of school gossip was enough to send Dominique into a perpetual cringe under the bed sheets she'd cocooned herself in and had her reminiscing about her reputation as the Dementor girl because that at least had some class.

But in a move that she wasn't expecting, the universe cut her some slack and such gossip didn't accompany Leanne back with the meals she was smuggling out of the Great Hall for Dominique. Wood, it appeared, had managed to keep Percy quiet, meaning that for a short time she could return to regretting her hormonally charged mistakes without fear of exposure…until she was forced back into the outside world on Monday morning.

With bright sunshine pouring through the dormitory windows and birds chirping happily outside, Dominique whiled away the morning hours contemplating whether or not she should ask Leanne to smother her with a pillow so that she wouldn't have to face the possibility of running into Wood.

As she sat cross-legged on her mattress, twisting her lips and tearing a brush through her hair, the mortification she'd fostered over the weekend slowly began to morph into something else altogether. Dominique was pissed off. She could practically hear her shoulder angels sparring on either side of her, making their case.

' _Here you are, worried about leaving your dormitory like some pathetic damsel in distress because of a bloke!'_ the miniature Dominique with the pitchfork and horns taunted.

' _It's not his fault,'_ the one with the harp and halo countered. _'He doesn't know what's happening!'_

' _Sure it is!'_ the pocket-sized devil insisted. _'You had a plan didn't you? A plan that didn't involve any mouth-to-mouth.'_ It leant back against its pitchfork to examine its nails with measured disinterest. _'Not that Wood cares about any of that…'_

' _But he doesn't know!_ ' the angel persisted. 'A _nd_ you _kissed him back!'_

Horned Dominique snickered. ' _Ugh, you are so pious! She's not allowed one mistake?'_

The real Dominique nodded vigorously in agreement with the latter, not seeing the mildly disturbed look her dorm-mates Tabitha and Anna shared whilst sidling out of the dorm. Dominique was too busy seething as she slipped into her uniform, becoming increasingly convinced by a figment of her imagination that all the faults in the known universe lay unswervingly with a certain Keeper.

In turned out that Dominique's shoulder devil was so persuasive that by the time she slammed herself down in Transfiguration she was positively fuming. Wood was at risk of winding up in a body bag if he didn't look out, and his prospects didn't improve much minutes later when Katie Bell marched up to Dominique, dumped her bag on their shared desk and fixed her with a shrewd, calculating stare.

"Instead of asking how it's physically possible that _you_ , the most sober person at that party, were hung over a _whole_ weekend, I'll start with this little doozy: why in Merlin's name does Wood want me to tell you, and I quote, 'we should talk?' Something you want to share, Sammy?"

Dominique nearly snapped the quill in her hand. Outwardly, she worked to school her features in an unassuming mask and gave a half shrug. Internally she wondered if Wood was mentally deficient. Because brain damage was the only conceivable explanation she could come up with for him to have said something so glaringly and moronically stupid to Katie. "No idea. Maybe he's taken one too many bludgers to the head."

 _She_ hadn't uttered a word of what had transpired in his dormitory, nor did she plan to in the foreseeable future. The future, however, had different plans.

At first she made it the whole day without so much as a glimpse of Wood and despite the suspicious glances Katie kept tossing her way Dominique was lulled into a false sense of security. She managed to delude herself into thinking that perhaps Wood was too sloshed to remember what'd happened at all; he was probably bugging Katie so that she'd return the old Transfiguration books she'd borrowed. Brimming with hope, Dominique practically skipped along to the kitchens for a premature celebration when classes finished, dragging her perplexed friends with her.

Tippy and Binky, jubilant as always, set up a table with enough cake laden plates to supply a small army. Shoving a chunk of blueberry muffin into her mouth, Dominique swallowed and smiled around the crumbs as Leanne wrinkled her nose and commented that her stomach really _was_ a bottomless pit.

"It's a family trait," she replied, taking aim at Katie who was using her mouth to catch morsels like a seal whilst Binky shuffled over to deposit another plate before bobbing back to the stove.

"It be good miss be eating a lot! She be growing healthy and strong!"

"So small yet so wise," Dominique sighed, narrowly dodging a whack Leanne aimed at her head with the astronomy diagram they were supposed to be completing for their midnight lesson. Grumbling and pouting, Dominique started charting the planets Leanne allocated her and Katie, who together managed to mix up Jupiter and Venus and accidentally locate a non-existent third moon of Mars' within minutes. Whilst Leanne corrected their work Dominique dropped her heads into her hands. "Easter break can't come quickly enough…"

The fingers she'd buried in her hair slowly dragged down her face moments later when the sound of the creaking portrait door caused her head to automatically tilt up. She felt her features turn to stone at the sight of him hesitating in the threshold.

"I didn't think anyone'd by in here," Wood said, a crooked smile burgeoning on lips as his gaze landed upon Dominique – a smile that revealed he remembered _precisely_ what had happened in his dormitory two nights ago.

Dominique's own stomach plummeted, the flame of hope she'd clung to throughout the day dying with a sudden snuff. Katie, blissfully unaware of the imp that had just reappeared in a puff of smoke on Dominique's shoulder, swung back on the hind legs of her chair towards her Captain. "We're just finishing up a -"

"We were just leaving," Dominique interrupted coldly, her own chair screeching along the scuffed floor as she rose to start shoving things into her bag. Resisting the urge to side with her shoulder devil and throw a curse at Wood, she barely saw his smile drop or the crinkling of Leanne's forehead.

"We were?" Katie asked.

" _I_ was." Dominique hitched her bag upon her shoulder. "I'll see you two later," she added, pushing past a bewildered Wood without further acknowledgement. She kept her head held high and her air purposeful despite a lack of direction as she marched away from the kitchen corridor.

She hadn't made it three steps by the time Wood caught up to her. "Going somewhere?" he asked, smirk audible.

"The furthest I can from you without crossing any national borders," Dominque snapped. A spiteful rush of triumph surged through her when Wood stopped dead in his tracks.

"Merlin, Sam, what did I do?"

Dominique let out a single, disbelieving cackle and spun around to stab an accusing finger at him. "You know exactly what you did, you bonehead!" Hastily checking over her shoulder to make sure she didn't have an audience, she lowered her volume to a whispered shout. " _'We need to talk?'_ Are you serious, Wood! Katie's been watching me like I'm part of a conspiracy to assassinate the Minister of Magic all bloody day!"

The beginnings of a chuckle started in Wood's throat but faltered under Dominique's barbed glare. He raised his palms as a sign of defeat and took a step closer. "My bad, I know. But, technically, I didn't tell her anything. Nobody's going to know, Sam. And besides…would it really be such a big deal if they did?"

"Yes!" Dominique exploded. Maybe for him this whole caper was a trivial dalliance – something he didn't have to think about outside of potentially awkward confrontations in empty castle corridors – but as she saw it, it was a chip away at the stability of the future, and she had already learnt the hard way that small chips could have time-altering consequences.

"Sam, it was just a kiss," Wood frowned, causing Dominique to groan and run a hand through her hair as she wondered how in Merlin's name she could make him understand.

"Maybe it was to you. But for me, someone who tries to limit the amount of people she lets stick their tongue down her throat, it was a mistake! It shouldn't have happened, Wood!"

"You seemed to be into it at the time," he said, suddenly stiffening.

"Now I wish it hadn't happened at all!"

Wood's jaw clenched and his arms folded over his chest. "Is that right?"

"Yes," Dominique pursed her lips, mimicking his stubborn stance. "It was a lapse of judgement. All I want to do is forget it, Oliver."

For several seconds Wood continued to simply watch Dominique before he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a step away with a bout of hollow laughter. She could practically hear his teeth grind together as his hand dropped and he looked at Dominique with sincere conviction. "There's something wrong with you, Sam," he said as though he'd finally figured it out. "You don't let people get close to you - it's like you're afraid of something. You really do need one of those perathists…"

Wood brushed past her, refusing to look back as he disappeared down the dark corridor. Meanwhile, Dominque stood there, taken aback by his bluntness and how close to the mark he truly was. Remembering herself, she turned to bellow into the shadows he'd melted into, not caring who heard. _"It's therapist!"_

With a snarl she threw her hands in the air and spun back around only to find both Katie and Leanne standing there slack-jawed in the kitchen doorway, staring at her like she'd grown a second head. The star chart that Dominique had forgotten to pack hung forgotten in Leanne's grip. She didn't have to ask how much they had heard; it was written all over their faces.

There was a heartbeat of silence. And then…

" _WHAT THE FU-"_

* * *

In days long past Lysander Scamander had a theory that the burning incense which followed Professor Trelawney around wherever she journeyed was made from the same stuff muggles used in chloroform, and each time he brought up this particular conspiracy James and Dominique would snicker and advise him to stop listening to his mother's conspiracies. Now, however, Dominique was beginning to suspect that he might've been onto something.

She sat staring at a foggy crystal ball, struggling against her drooping eyelids whilst smoky heat filled the classroom from the hearth Trelawney insisted on stoking every couple of minutes. Sitting through Divination was like taking an hour long bath. The class was _supposed_ to be revising for exams but most of the students dotted around the attic's many beanbags were half-asleep, a respectable number of them drooling while they were at it.

"So…you were shirtless?"

Dominique's vacant expression transformed into a glower that rose from the crystal ball to Leanne sitting opposite her. "Yes! But it wasn't intentional!" she hissed across the table. "And I thought we were done talking about Wood!"

Katie shuffled her tarot cards without looking up. "So did I…"

On the whole, Dominique thought that she was having the more rational reaction of the two. Although both had sworn to take it to the grave, neither had quite _processed_ what they'd stumbled upon a few days earlier. Katie was taking the disgusted route. "It's like thinking about someone kissing my brother," she had shuddered at one point.

It was becoming apparent that Leanne, on the other hand, had read far too many romance novels for her own good. At present she clucked her tongue and scribbled down a line of predictions on her parchment. "You know I've seen some strange reactions to a snog in my time but this is by far the strangest – from both of you. It's sort of sweet in a way, isn't it? I mean at first you don't like each other and now-"

"Leanne," Dominque cut in, carefully inspecting the girl's tea leaves. "I'm seeing you meet with a very tragic and very _painful_ accident in the very near future if you don't shut it."

Leanne scoffed and shot her a reproachful look before finally returning to her predictions. In the silence that followed Dominique propped her chin upon her interlocked fingers and attempted to dissolve back into some healthy repression - instead she found her thoughts wandering back to Wood.

For all intents and purposes the pair had reached a sort of unspoken, mutual agreement to pretend that the other didn't exist; Dominique hadn't seen Wood since the corridor almost a week earlier. Thankfully, fate had cut her a break this time with Sprout dropping by during her last Herbology lesson to announce that tutoring would be no more. Her Professors had decided that Dominique had reached a proficient standard and that her tutors, Summerby, Clearwater and Wood had their own NEWTs to concentrate on…which of course brought up a whole new set of worries in the form of her own exams.

Honestly, Dominique didn't see much of a point considering that she would have to repeat them all again in the future, a fact which she clued Dumbledore into more than once. He, however, did not share this view, speaking to that trusty, oft-used tune of 'we must keep up appearances' and so when the Easter break rolled up in early April it was not tranquil break that Dominique had previously envisioned.

When all of her professors decided to pile on the homework in what must've been a synchronised manoeuvre, she imagined them plotting together in the staffroom, laughing maniacally and rubbing their hands together. It was a comfort at least that she wasn't part of the emotionally fragile group studying for OWLs and NEWTs, who were the main customers in an underground market for calming draughts which had sprung up seemingly overnight halfway into the break along with a market for 'liquid courage' provided by some enterprising of-age students. Although it was a Gryffindor scheme, Dominique was sure that Cadwallader had a hand in it somehow and, regardless, he was one of the slim few keeping it together.

His coping mechanism, she discovered, wasn't yoga, Bob Ross style arts and crafts or early-stage alcoholism, but duelling, and the person he succeeded in roping into practising the technically forbidden skirmishes with him most frequently was none other than a certain Hufflepuff Prefect.

 _So Hogwarts' Golden Boy can break the rules now and again,_ Dominique had mused upon catching them in the Transfiguration Court Yard on the brink of curfew one evening. Multi-coloured glows had splashed against the surrounding walls in neon waves and lights from the hissing spells the duellers shot at each other collided in the space between them and exploded like fireworks. There was a sort of hypnotising quality to the display that kept Dominique watching, pressed against an arch out of sight.

It wasn't hard to see that Cadwallader fought with brute strength, hacking through the air like a lumberman with his wand whilst, in comparison, Cedric was patient, waiting for openings in his opponent's onslaught before striking carefully and with precision. Dominique smiled as his exuberant face was illuminated by a flash of orange, laughing at the clumsy tap-dancing charm Cadwallader had managed to rebound onto himself.

Cedric was talented, that much was obvious. But he wouldn't he wouldn't be talented enough.

The smile dropped from Dominique's features at the thought. Nauseating guilt creeping up her body, she glanced down to see her hands clenched into a trembling fist, her nails dug so deeply into her palm that she was creating stinging impressions in the skin. The sound of Cedric's laughter reached her ears again and she closed her eyes, failing to untangle the tightening knot in her stomach as she slipped away from the courtyard.

The knot rooted itself as a sickening sensation that Dominique couldn't shake off for several days. Watching Cedric duel was an odd, unexpected form of torture - one which she didn't particularly want to repeat - and it was for this reason that she chose to forgo Lupin's duelling day much to her friends' confusion. It wasn't long, however, before they reached their own conclusions.

"You know you don't even know that Wood will be there, Sam," Katie had pointed out during lunch the day before the demonstration. "And even if he does show up it's not like you have to talk to him."

Although the assumption irked Dominique it was an easier explanation than the truth. "Yeah, yeah I know, but I've got things I need to get done instead. Anyway, aren't you and Leanne the ones who're always having a go at me for not studying?" she had retorted.

 _Shockingly_ , Dominique didn't wind up studying much at all the day of the duelling demonstration, and instead spent the day sunbathing on the thankfully unpatrolled Astronomy Tower. Stretched out like a cat soaking up the warm spring sunshine, she wound up lazing the day away listening to the Wizarding Wireless and daydreaming, the History of Magic notes Leanne had loaned her lying forgotten beside her. Losing track of time in the solitude, twilight had begun nuzzling the horizon by the time she eventually heaved herself up to grab dinner before curfew fell.

The Great Hall was unusually packed for the late hour. Dominique discovered the reason behind this whilst weaving her way over to the Hufflepuff table where Leanne was sitting with Mike and Stebbins. Lupin's demonstration had run overtime but nobody was complaining, least of all Stebbins who was avidly recounting the best matches of the day amidst mouthfuls of roast potato.

Returning Leanne's smile as she sat, Dominique tuned out the boys out and reached for a bowl of baked vegetables before stopping midway as some of Stebbins words caught her attention. "Wait a sec, Stebbins - what was that?"

Stebbins' throat bobbed as he pushed down another mouthful of potato and he shook his fork around dramatically like it was a gavel. "I said Flint ought to have been suspended for the trick he pulled! Almost knocked Wood's block off! But of course Snape stepped in and -"

"Something happened to Wood?" Dominique broke in. "Is he okay?"

"He was only knocked out for a few minutes," Mike answered unconcernedly. "Madam Pomfrey dragged him up to the Hospital Wing anyway to make sure that he didn't have a concussion. I heard he complained the whole way there," he snickered.

Dominique slowly placed the bowl of vegetables back down, chewing her bottom lip and ignoring the heat of Leanne's knowing gaze on her side. A niggling sensation began stirring in the pit of her stomach that she attempted to push off – after all, complaining was a sure sign that Wood was in tip top shape. What business of hers if he happened to be a little pranged up?

…Still, part of her wanted to check for herself, perhaps for some peace of mind. Rationalising it that a possible injury could affect the future, Dominique abandoned her untouched dinner and rose from the table, barely glancing back when Leanne called out.

"I thought you weren't talking to him!"

"I'm not," Dominique muttered beneath her breath as she strode past a cluster of Seventh Years standing in the Great Hall threshold and threw herself up the grand staircase. Striding through the castle towards the Hospital Wing, a number of questions started playing in her mind, the most pressing of which concerning whether or not Wood would actually want to see her. The prospects seemed dubious. Maybe she could just hang back and check from afar that he was still breathing.

However, these hurdles were abruptly wiped from her thoughts upon reaching the Third Floor, from the opposite end of which the Headmaster was approaching. At the sound of her footsteps abruptly halting, Dumbledore offered a smile and breached the distance, chuckling warmly at Dominique's puzzled expression. "Miss James," he greeted. "How fortunate, I was at this very moment on my way to search for you but luck, quite auspiciously, appears to have delivered us together."

"Professor," Dominique replied uncertainly, becoming suddenly flooded with that odd suspended sensation – a bit like the seconds before the drop on a carnival ride – which seemed to accompany unexpected run ins with Dumbledore; particularly in moments such as these when his words were completely unanticipated.

"Unfortunately I must rob you of this evening," he said, spreading an arm out beside him to the Clock Tower Courtyard ingress as a beckoning call. "I would not ask if it were not necessary."

Knowing that Dumbledore's invitation couldn't possibly be the light-hearted, smooth-sailing sort, Dominique shifted on the spot, thinking twice for the first time since meeting him about following the Headmaster's instructions. There was no guessing how long it would take to check on Wood if she didn't do it now. "Sir, I was sort of on my way to go and see Wood – I mean, Oliver Wood – he's in the Hospital Wing."

"Ah, yes, Mr Wood is perfectly healthy, allow me to assure you. I have just come from his bedside myself," Dumbledore replied. Tension Dominique wasn't aware of holding released from her shoulders as he continued. "In fact, he was quite adamant about returning to his dormitory. He also mentioned something about repaying Mr. Flint the favour." Here, Dumbledore inspected Dominique over the rim of his spectacles with sparkling eyes. "We may have to keep a watchful eye on that."

Dominique laughed shakily. Making death threats towards rival Quidditch Captains was a good sign that Wood wasn't permanently damaged…which probably meant she could wait to see him until whatever revelation Dumbledore was about to spring on her had settled in…which was probably what the Headmaster had intended. With another glance towards the Hospital Wing doors standing closed behind Dumbledore, Dominique bit the inside of her check and reluctantly nodded. "Okay, Professor."

Following him out onto the abandoned courtyard, she spotted the swollen silver moon peaking over the tip of the castle battlements like an enormous marble. The ringing chime of the clock tower overhead striking nine o'clock - curfew - would've been deafening had Dumbledore not cast a silencing charm. "Do you have your wand on you?" he asked.

"Uh, yes, sir," Dominique answered uncertainly, a bit worried that he was about to propose a duel.

She realised, as his expression grew infinitesimally more solemn, that he was gauging her reaction whilst he spoke. "I have located Rimbaud's residence, the Château de Verre. If you can recall last time we spoke I informed you that it was my strong opinion that your presence would be necessary if we are to successfully discover the remainder of his manuscripts within. Once more I apologise for the danger I must ask you to endure, however the time has come."

Dominique's heart skipped a beat in her constricting chest. "Right now?" she croaked.

"I'm afraid we cannot delay. Your arrival in the past has set many events into motion, there is no knowing if the manuscripts, if located at the Chateau as I predict, remain protected," he explained gravely. Within her pocket, Dominique's fingers automatically sought out the reassuring pressure of her wand and she heard Dumbledore's final instructions as though they were coming from some distance away. "You must stay by me at all times, Miss James, and listen carefully to my directions. Do I have your word?"

Dominique's gaze travelled down from the spiralling towers of the school, illuminated by moonlight, to Dumbledore's outstretched forearm. She was terrified. Steeling herself, she tried to think like her parents and asked herself what they would do in her position. The answer wasn't difficult. Dominique clenched her eyes shut and grabbed Dumbledore's offered arm. Feeling the edges of the world start to compress, she told herself that she would be brave for her parents, and for Victoire and Louis too.

"Promise."

* * *

Dominique's legs gave way beneath her the second the world reformed. Her hands shot out as she hit rough ground, scraping off the skin along her palms, and, like being released from a vacuum, her lungs expanded painfully against her ribcage as she sucked in heaving gasps of air.

"Take a moment," she heard Dumbledore say, followed by the crunch of earth beneath the steps he took beyond the depths of her sight. Hissing as she brushed the dirt from her cuts, Dominique blinked against her dizzying vision and peered around.

Standing two or three feet away, Dumbledore's figure was cast in an eerie, twisted shadow that spiked up from black iron bars with metal flowers and thorns wrapping around them like snakes to create a hellish looking gate. However it wasn't the gate itself, but what it protected that stole Dominique's breath once more.

It was an untamed garden, more forest than anything else, stretching for miles like a wild fortress that protected the bulk of the Chateau from sight. Dark and menacing, it was a picture straight out of a Grimm Brothers story; the type where Red Riding Hood doesn't quite escape the Wolf. Rising to stand beside Dumbledore and facing the forest head on, each and every one of Dominique's instincts screamed at her to turn back…but that wasn't an option.

"Wand at the ready, Miss James," Dumbledore instructed steadily.

Waving his own and murmuring something that Dominique knew she wouldn't find in the Standard Book of Spells, he stirred the gateway to slowly creak open, the sound of rusted iron fighting years of stillness like a screech in the silence. With the hinges shuddering to a halt on either side, Dominique flexed her fingers around the handle of her own drawn wand and, questioning her sanity only slightly, followed Dumbledore into the shadowed mouth of the forest.

The tip of his wand lit the way down the dirt path like a beacon but its light was suppressed on either side by densely packed trees, their spindly branches scratching Dominique's skin and tugging at the hem of her robes as she passed. She attempted to clear her head of the mind-muddling aromas that rose from the pastel white flowers spilling onto the path in bushes by pondering how this monstrosity of a place had managed to escape detection for as long as it had.

"Professor, how is it that nobody knows about this place? Surely, muggle planes would have-?"

"Like most magical dwellings it has several enchantments placed over it to repel muggles and allow it to go unnoticed, as I'm sure was Rimbaud's intention," Dumbledore answered pushing aside an umbrella-sized palm that Dominique walked into a split second after. "As for the magical world, Rimbaud made his home quite unplottable and quite unreachable to all except those who know how to reach it - which, thanks to his manuscripts, we happily do."

Dominique nodded and continued on in a silence that matched the apparent lifelessness of the forest. She was soon comforted by the lightening of the space as the weatherworn walls of the Chateau protruding above the canopy became visible and it seemed that the depths of the darkness were behind them. Hastening her pace so as to escape the shadows faster, the ground suddenly slipped beneath one of her ankles and she hastily clutched a nearby gnarled branch to stay upright.

"Bloody hell," she murmured, wiping remnants of rotten tree bark from her hands. Frowning slightly, she lit her wand and lowered it the ground to inspect the stone she had assumedly slipped on. Dominique's eyes bulged from their sockets and an instinctual, strangled scream tore from her throat as unmoving, distinctly human features swam into view.

The stillness of the forest was shattered as she stumbled backwards, with Dumbledore rapidly appearing out of nowhere and resuming her crouched position an instant later. He lowered his wand to the ground and light spilled across what both now realised was a veiled stone face half buried in a layer of moss and dirt. It was impossible to tell if the rest of the statue was submerged beneath the decaying undergrowth or if this was simply the face torn from the whole.

Slowly removing the hand clasped across her mouth, Dominique spoke in a whisper. "What is it?"

"We shall soon know," Dumbledore murmured, sparing her a grim smile as he rose and beckoned for them to continue forward. "Watch your step, Miss James. We must keep moving."

Thankfully, Dominique didn't tread upon anymore disembodied stone faces as they neared the forest's close and emerged through to the clearing opposite the tree-line. The sudden and stark appearance of the Château de Verre on the other side did little to allay her dread, however.

A rash of emerald ivy clung to the crumbling outer walls of the estate, creeping in and out of the cracks and fissures in the aged stone and broken glass windows. On the left wing another structure jutted out, looking from this distance like a chipped, rectangular diamond which seemed to have collapsed in on itself, but somehow the enormous glass panels, these too crushed by interlacing vines, still stood in that impressive, haunting sort of way. Built by magic, the Castle of Glass had surrendered to the ravages of time in Rimbaud's absence and had become trapped in a dark warp.

It was a corpse of a home.

As she followed Dumbledore up the Chateau's foliage smothered threshold, Dominque's footsteps sounded like an intrusion to a place that hadn't seen life in centuries. Her fingers, she realised, were trembling around her wand and Dominique wondered if she was the only student the Headmaster liked to take on life endangering adventures; what little she knew of her Uncle Harry's adventures made this unlikely. Setting her jaw in a resolute line, she remembered her promise to be brave like her parents and gripped her wand more tightly still when Dumbledore cast a severing charm that broke the ivy seal covering the grand doors.

He regarded her a final time before pushing on the fractured timber. "Tread lightly and with certainty."

Dominique swallowed and crossed the doorsill. Inside was as decayed as its shell had promised. The scent of rotting wood rose from the floorboards and the expensive wallpaper that lined the room was peeling in damp strips along the all. A winding staircase with ornate gold bars curled up the structure to create a landing off which several doors opened onto rooms most likely as ramshackle as this one. Despite the years, all of the baroque style furniture remained, granted in a state of definite disarray and covered in blankets upon blankets of dust. The manuscripts could have been stashed anywhere in this chaos.

"What exactly are we looking for, Professor?" Dominique asked, making a point not to walk directly under an unstable looking chandelier. She'd tempted fate enough for one lifetime.

"A study or a library, perhaps," Dumbledore answered. "Anywhere books have been stored would constitute an astute starting point."

"Books, got it," Dominque nodded.

Making sure to stick close by Dumbledore's side as they rummaged through the lower floor of the chateau, she ducked through thick cloths of cobweb that draped across the bannisters and tiptoed across colourful moon-beamed shapes on the floor cast by a collection of stain glass windows decorating the rear of the structure. Stopping by partially broken section, Dominique pressed the tips of her fingers against a smooth amethyst-like shard that made up a hummingbird's wing. For a moment she studied the mark her fingerprints had pressed into the dust before drifting away to catch up to Dumbledore. A couple of steps into her stride something else drew her attention.

Two brown eyes were watching her, almost glowing in the dark frame they occupied. The portrait was the muggle kind, unmoving but capturing the essence of its subject in its own way. The painted woman couldn't have been more than a few years older than Dominique herself, twenty at most, and she was clearly a lady of status, implied in the manner she held herself rather than her rich garments. The champagne satin gown she wore complimented her dark skin and her curls were tied with a pale ribbon that was simple in comparison to the mile high powdered wigs people thought fashionable at the time. Her beauty radiated most clearly from her eyes though, a youthful, captivating russet colour that gleamed as though they were protecting an amusing secret.

The golden name plate engraved below the portrait was too filthy to read but Dominique could just make out the numbers six and three. Quirking her head, she called out as discreetly as she could. "Uh, sir, do you know who this is?"

Dumbledore's sudden presence beside her caused Dominique to start. She couldn't decide if she was imaging the mournful way he considered the portrait or not. "This was Genevieve Rimbaud – our Rimbaud's daughter in all but blood." Motioning for Dominique to continue with him further down the narrow hall, he continued. "From what little we do know of his life it seems that Rimbaud lived most of it in solitude. At some point he acquired a taste for travel and upon one of these sojourns he came across a dying child and recognised her illness for what it truly was. You see, young Genevieve was an Obscurial."

Dominique almost cricked her neck whipping back around to stare at the portrait of a woman who looked the furthest thing possible from pictures of Obscurials layed out in the pages of her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. She was tempted to ask Dumbledore if he was sure about his sources.

"Her own family muggle family did not know how to cope with their daughter and so they did what they thought was best. In those days the mentally ill were not understood, nor were they treated with much humanity. Genevieve, a young witch of lowborn birth struggling with her own magical core, suffered a great deal, which of course only worsened her condition," Dumbledore recounted.

Dominique barely realised that strip of moonlit burgundy carpet they were travelling down was leading them to the chateau's left wing. She was too caught up in thoughts of Genevieve Rimbaud, wondering if she had walked this same path hundreds of years ago, to pay attention. It wasn't until she ducked under an archway that opened onto the un-beating heart of the house that she finally became aware of her surroundings again.

The ballroom was framed by enormous, shattered glass planes that made it seem as though they were standing encased in a diamond. Dominique could imagine them catching sunbeams in the Chateau's days of splendour and spreading rainbows across the once polished floor. But now what sections of the ballroom weren't scattered with broken glass shards were scuffed and rotten in patches where raindrops had wriggled through the half collapsed ceiling.

Drawing her robes tighter to combat the goose-bumps rising along her arms, Dominique rotated in a slow circle as her gaze roamed over the ballroom. It was amazing to her that Rimbaud, a man who by all accounts preferred solitude, had designed such a grand chamber. Perhaps, she realised, the ballroom hadn't been built with his desires in mind.

"What happened to her? To Genevieve, I mean?"

Sidestepping a shard of glass, the Headmaster glanced up at her before continuing his scanning search of the space. "With Rimbaud's help she survived, but her magic did not. She became, essentially, a squib. By all accounts she lived a rather happy life with Rimbaud, who ensured that she had knowledge of the magical world and understood how to cope with her Obscurus. She was an exceptionally rare case as you can imagine…most Obscurials do not survive past the age of ten."

A chill flowed through one of the window cracks to shiver one of the half hung, mould covered curtains by his shoulder, sending a branch outside scratching against the glass walls. Dumbledore's next words were murmured so softly that Dominique suspected he was talking more to himself than to her. "There was once a time when her survival was of the utmost interest to me; it was how I became familiar with Rimbaud in my youth…I have often wondered how he managed it…"

With his sentence tapering off into silence Dominique chose not to pry at what seemed a private digression. Moving on, the draught of the ballroom pursued them through the remainder of the chateau and all the way up the staircase where the rotting wooden boards groaned under the weight of their first few steps. Dominique gripped the rusted railing like it was a lifeline and although the blistered metal was rough against skin she kept a tight grip out of fear that the floorboards would suddenly give way and send them crashing down to the chateau's foundations below.

Together they scoured the second level, searching through an upstairs sitting room, a sordid storage closet and a putrid, slimy bathroom that smelt like something had died in it before they investigated one of the master bedrooms. The ornate bed itself appeared in tact but Dominique didn't dare put any weight on it as she made her way to grimy antique vanity opposite it. Rifling through the draws to the sound of cosmetic bottles clinking against each other, she paused and gently drew out a faded handkerchief embroidered with the yellowing initials of G.R.

Dominique folded it back into the draw and frowned. "Why didn't they take anything with them?" she marvelled aloud. "Why did they leave at all?"

"Rimbaud died sometime in the mid-1880s," Dumbledore replied. "He left the chateau and all his other worldly possessions to Genevieve, who it seems fled sometime during the Revolution, leaving all that she owned behind."

"I suppose guillotines do have that affect," Dominique muttered grimly, sliding the vanity draw shut with a dull snap. "But wouldn't she be safe? The chateaus enchanted to keep muggles out, right?"

"There is the possibility that with Rimbaud's death Genevieve was under the impression that the chateau's magical protection died with him," Dumbledore explained, not ceasing his search through a nearby bookshelf. "After all, we must remember that Genevieve herself was no witch. It is plausible that she grew to dread living in a place surrounded by magic. Perhaps she feared that her obscurus would return. In any case, the manner in which we are most likely to discover the reason for her departure is in Rimbaud's manuscripts, which we must continue to look for, Miss James."

Dominique didn't miss the hint and resumed the search with fresh determination. Hours seemed to pass by in minutes but the glimpses of sky she caught in the grubby windows outside remained an inky midnight. It wasn't until she gave up searching a putrid powder-room, closing the door with a click and resting against the wood with a huff, that it registered that she had separated herself from Dumbledore without knowing how it'd happened.

Seeing his cloak swish around and disappear into a study further down the hall, Dominique started towards it, only to pause a split second later when an odd, distressed cry reached her ears. Features screwed up in confusion, her head swivelled between the door that Dumbledore had slipped through and the direction that the sound – a warped birdsong – seemed to be emanating.

Breathing heavily and training her wand ahead, she took a few cautious steps backwards to the musky, echoing alcove she'd strode past previously. "I must be out of my mind." Dominique ran a hand along the damp wallpaper and her jaw dropped as the wall gave way to reveal a gloomy passage that stretched into a pitch black abyss. Arched on her tiptoes, she craned forward to gape into the darkness. Dumbledore had to see this. "Uh, Profes –ARGH!"

The alcove wall had come swinging back around, shoving Dominique's unsuspecting rear into the passageway where she was immediately drowned in blackness. The sound of her fists pounding against the wall resounded through the dank passage…but apparently not outside of it.

"Professor! Dumbledore! _A little help here!"_

Groaning, she surrendered and instead turned to appraise the emptiness before her, rubbing her arms to garner some warmth. Going forward seemed incredibly stupid – the course of action that the helpless victim in a muggle horror movie would take - but staying put, pitching a tent and hoping that Dumbledore would eventually track her down seemed stupider, and so it was with a great deal of trepidation that Dominique lit her wand tip and descended the downward slope to wherever the path was taking her.

Minutes later, when the mysterious birdsong launched again, she swallowed a nervous chuckle and picked up the pace, nearly splitting her skull open when she walked headlong into the passage's close. Dominique's wand clattered to the ground and the shimmer of brightness lighting the space was extinguished. Reaching around as though blind, her hands slipped over slimy stone until one came to grasp a stiff, chilled handle.

"What do we have behind door number one?" she asked the emptiness, hearing her words reverberate up the cavern. She was thankful, at least, that nobody answered when she crouched down, keeping a grip on the handle, to seek out her wand on the ground. With her grip closing around it, Dominique yanked herself up and surveyed the door suspiciously before gritting her teeth and shoving against it with her shoulder. She was propelled forward and spat out the other side when it suddenly jerked free and, steading herself, she examined her surroundings.

"You've got to be kidding me."

She was back in the forest. But something about this section of land was…unusual. In a way she couldn't quite place, it stood in defiance of the remainder of the landscape; the foliage here seemed tamer somehow, with wild, scraggly hedgerows growing from the earth instead of trees and shrubs. Twisting around to consider the corner turret she'd tumbled out of, Dominique dragged the tip of her shoe through the patchy soil underneath to reveal an uneven, concealed stepping stone. If she _really_ squinted, the overgrown forest here could've passed for an abandoned estate garden.

 _And if this is the garden_ , she thought, _there's a way back into the house somewhere around here._

Ultimately it was the chilly, unnaturally still night air that made the decision for Dominique. Blocking out her protesting instincts yet again, she listened to the sound of leaves and twigs crunching beneath her tread as she ventured into the depths of the garden, shuddering at the sound of the turret door swinging closed behind her.

The hedged garden was designed almost like a labyrinth. Nature's walls encroached from either side, creating a musty sweet aroma that clung to Dominque. An odd tingling sensation raced down her spine as she glanced back at the turret tower disappearing behind her and she pushed away the disquieting suspicion that she was straying further away from the chateau rather than towards it. By the time these worries were confirmed she had already crossed too many forks in the path to trust an attempt at retracing her steps.

A short stretch of maze later, when she rounded what seemed to be the hundredth corner, a harsh yelp worked its way into Dominique's incantation as she threw up an instinctual shield charm against a startling and unforeseen presence. With the distinct lack an attack, she peeked around the translucent barrier and gradually allowed it to falter. It wasn't a person that she had come across, but a statue.

It was the image, Dominique thought, of a priestess or a goddess, and a frightening one at that. Its face was masked by a flowing veil, rippled with stone waves, and she feared that any attempt to sidestep it would cause the statue to step down from its pedestal and block the path. But when she held her breath and hastened past, its hands remained folded peacefully at its lower torso, not so much as flinching. Still, Dominique checked a few times as she continued onwards to ensure that it wasn't following.

She quickly discovered that the statue didn't stand alone; its sisters were dotted throughout the garden like guardians protecting some unseen treasure. Some were laced with moss and flowers and some had weatherworn stains streaming down their faces in lines that resembled tears. Each one was made distinct by its deformity, missing everything from limbs to faces – answering the question of what exactly it was Dominique had slipped on in the forest – and together they formed an unnerving, motionless garrison.

The strangest thing, however, was that with each statue she swept by the tingling sensation plaguing her heightened in intensity until it reached her pulse, which was now cantering along her veins and leaving her lightheaded.

All of a sudden the hedgerows parted onto a clearing and Dominique came to an abrupt standstill at the unfathomable sight settled directly in its centre. She was sure she would've fainted if her body hadn't rewired itself into an electric mess, her heart now slamming against her ribcage whilst her mind refused to work. Finally remembering how to move, Dominique bridged the distance between her and _it_.

"This is impossible," she whispered.

And yet there it was; the fountain she had been dreaming about for months, complete with three petrified hummingbirds perched atop it. However no pristine, sparkling water flowed through the arches, which instead were covered in thick, slimy moss, with strangling weeds having taken root in the fountain's basin to wrap themselves up and around the central structure like restraints. Although the stretching white void had been replaced with Rimbaud's garden, there was no mistaking the fact that Rimbaud's rotting fountain and her beautiful dream fountain were one and the same.

Dominique couldn't tear her transfixed gaze away. As though ensnared with a hook, her eyes fluttered closed as her body was reeled forward. A ticking noise which she gradually recognised as her own heartbeat rose to the forefront of her consciousness and, as nonsensical as it was, she couldn't shake off the impression that the fountain was waiting for her…as though the chateau had lured her there for a reason.

It would certainly explain the incredible sway Dominique was under as moved closer towards it. _Touch it_ , someone whispered in her mind. _Reach out. You're so close. Touch it._ Her hand hovering mere inches from the stone rim, she drew an intake of breath and allowed her fingertips to graze the fountain.

Dominique gasped as a tremor of power shot through her and ripped her hand away to examine it against the moonlight. Panting from the pure intensity of the shock, she was too absorbed in the task of making sure she still had all of her fingers to sense the shadow overtaking her own on the ground. It wasn't until she was knocked down, an excruciatingly painful blow pounding into her side, that she realised she wasn't alone.

Thinking that she might've cracked a rib or two, Dominique blinked past the tears welling in the corners of her eyes and squirmed upright to see the faceless statue bearing down upon her, its draped stone arm in the process of surging down to utterly obliterate her. With a throat-scorching scream that shattered the stillness of the night, she barely managed to roll out of the space its fist smashed into a millisecond later. Pushing herself up and narrowly dodging an attack from a second statue, Dominique saw them stream out like marble ghosts from all positions of the garden as though summoned.

It was at this point that she remembered her wand. Throwing untargeted curses and hexes of her shoulder, Dominique made a break for it, abandoning the clearing to run the risk of the maze with the leaves on either side of her blurring with the speed of her sprint. It became apparent all too quickly that she'd made a mistake. Screeching to a half and spinning around in hysterical confusion with the sound of the statues in thundering pursuit close behind, Dominique chose a bearing by chance and whipped her wand at the obstructing hedge.

 _"Incendio!"_

A blazing jet of flame shot forth to burn scorched circles into the rows of thickly woven hedge. As she began to hurdle through them, she was sure she was running on pure adrenaline considering the lack of oxygen being sucked in by her constricted lungs. Climbing through what appeared to be the final hedge, it seemed that Dominique had made it through to the clearing on the other side when the branches and roots she was squirming though suddenly snapped to life.

As they furiously wrapped around her body and whipped across her face, Dominique cried out and attempted to reach the wand she'd shoved back into her pocket. With the rope-like leaves cutting off her circulation, she viciously struggled to free herself and figure out how to escape the situation with as many limbs as possible. Her desperation increased immeasurably as a number of surging veiled statues emerged onto her field of vision, gliding towards her with horrifying speed.

Trapped as she was, Dominique clenched her eyes shut and tensed her throbbing body for the pain. Seconds flickered by and it didn't come, and instead a strange sound, like rubble exploding, filled the area, causing her to cracking open a lid faintly and steal a look at the scene.

The statue closest to her was barrelled over by a roaring beam of light that came shooting from a position beyond Dominique's viewpoint. As it crumbled into a pile of dislocated debris it was finally clear what was happening; she could've cried at the image of Dumbledore storming down the turret path at a rate she didn't think possible for someone his age, eliminating the veiled statues one by one.

Still partially engulfed by leaves and branches herself, Dominique used Dumbledore's distraction as an opportunity to bust loose. Compelling her already screaming muscles to struggle, she eventually succeeded in stumbling free and falling to her knees in the soil. Breathless where she landed, Dominique failed to sense the presence at her shoulder until its cold, lifeless hand closed around her neck.

The faceless statue waited for her to turn before it brought its stone hand crashing down against her cheekbone. Sickening, metallic blood tasted in Dominique's mouth and flew out onto the statue's hand as her head whipped around with the sheer force of the strike. Crumbling in on herself not for the first time that night, this time Dominique couldn't bring herself to rise. Splayed out against the earth, she waited for the deathblow that did not come. Instead it was a crushing grip around her forearm that pulled Dominique to a frail stand, ensuring that she caught a transitory glimpse of the statues, unmoving where they had fallen, before a sharp tug at her navel and a familiar black mist prompted the realisation that they had escaped.

* * *

 **AN: Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?**

 **Sorry that it's been a while, things got a bit crazy on my end – on the bright side I saw Lana Del Rey live in the break and have decided that my firstborn shall be named in her honour – but things are back on track. You might have noticed some small edits to the story, nothing crazy don't worry, just things that were bugging me. I've also gotten an unexpected amount of messages and reviews recently that I just want to quickly address.**

 **First up, Meg dude you're an angel. Your reviews always make me smile and I do plan on sticking with the way I'm steering the story. Massive thanks to everyone else who has reviewed, even if some of you have absolutely no chill haha.**

 **Specifically to the random guest reviewer of late, son you're like the J. Edgar Hoover of fanfic. You bring up some great points that I've clarified in editing and I understand if you're not a fan of Dom trying to return to her time but, logically, I think that would be most people's first instinct…not that it's going to be anywhere near that straight forward.**

 **In terms of questions about the time-turner, I should have been more specific in addressing the fact that it's not a traditional hour-reversal turner. Its origins actually play a massive role in explaining just how Dom wound up where she is.**

 **Finally, my favourite questions have been about Dom's Veela heritage. The reason Dom doesn't have a trail of drooling admirers is mostly because it'd be crazy unrealistic and boring, and also the combination of facts that she's only 1/8** **th** **Veela, takes after her Weasley side and also (as guessed) has been disguised by Dumbledore in a way that specifically seeks to repel attention. More importantly though, Dom doesn't seem the type to have a great grip on willingly using her Veela powers, but that's not to say that they don't exist. There's a reason Ced puts up with her shit and Wood's always complaining about her being a distraction.**

 **That's all I've got for today, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.**


	13. WRITING UPDATE

WRITING UPDATE

Not an actual chapter, try to contain your enthusiasm lol.

A little bit of a mini-update as to why it's taking me literal months to post anything ( _"damn Aly, back at it again with the procrastination"_ ) and say thanks for all the super lovely PMs!

Honestly the biggest factor is that I'm really trying to figure out what the fuck it is I'm doing here. Turns out I've become super invested in characters that weren't supposed to feature prominently in WWD at all – case and point, Oliver Wood was supposed to be a passing meme about Quidditch obsession and now like eight chapters later Dom is literally snogging him. I have lost control kids.

I know authors, fanfic or otherwise, are not supposed to become too attached to their characters ('kill your darlings' and all) but it is a struggle™. Anyone who's written anything ever knows what I'm whinging about.

In the end though what I'm actually concerned about is not simply spurring out crap for the sake of it, I want to post stuff that someone somewhere will want to read and maybe even _care_ about. I know 50 or so people doesn't seem like heaps, but it's amazing to me that that many people actually want to know what happens to Dom.

So at the moment I have some road work ahead ( _"yeah I_ _sure hope it does"_ ) and if you guys can just bear with me a little bit I promise the next update notification you receive will be for an actual chapter to replace this mini PSA and together we can laugh and cringe at Dom's misfortune and endearingly poor life choices!

Keep on keeping on,

Aly xx


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